


Make No Sound

by dustbunnyprophet



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drinking, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Infidelity, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Smut, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Romance, Seung-gil and JJ are both being idiots, Underage Drinking, brief Jean-Jacques Leroy/Isabella Yang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-10-25 12:22:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10764192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustbunnyprophet/pseuds/dustbunnyprophet
Summary: It took them four years and many wrong turns.A SeungJJ fic.





	1. Chapter 1

_ “Old soul, your wounds they show _ _  
_ _ I know, you have never felt so low” _

_ Sia, Angel By The Wings _

 

The bedroom was cold. The early spring sun filtered shyly through the curtains, painting the sheets with streaks of pale light. Seung-gil snuggled in the large hoodie he had picked from the chair, looking wistfully at the warm bed he had just left. Jean was still sleeping. He lay sprawled on his stomach, arms wrapped around his pillow. Seung-gil could make out the edges of his maple leaf tattoo above the sheet which had bunched around him in a mess of wrinkled white cotton. A streak of sunlight caught shyly in Jean’s mussed locks, and Seung-gil felt a small smile tug at the corner of his lips. 

Minutes passed, or hours. He wasn’t really sure. Time stretched in this tiny pocket of eternity. And Seung-gil wished he could pull it, expand it until it swallowed everything, the uncertainty of the future, the scars of the past. He wished everything could fit in this moment, seven am, early March in Montreal, and disappear, leaving only Jean’s soft breathing and the morning sun on his skin.

Something pushed delicately at the insides of his chest, and Seung-gil let himself enjoy this moment of peace. While it lasted. 

Soon, too soon, Gyeong padded to the bedroom door, and scratched lightly, breaking the silence. And Seung-gil exhaled, padding barefoot out of the bedroom. His dog wagged her tail happily, and he scratched her behind her ears before walking into the kitchen. 

He turned the coffee-maker on, and leaned against the counter while he waited. Gyeong was sitting dutifully on the kitchen floor next to his leg, knowing he would take her on her morning walk only after he had ingested his morning dose of caffeine. It was one of the many habits which ruled Seung-gil’s day, and he loved having them. Schedules were reliable, a safety net to fall into when things became too much.

Jean teased him sometimes, telling him he was a slave to his routines, but Seung-gil only scowled at that. His boyfriend had not taken long to making many of Seung-gil’s habits his own. It was one of the things he loved about Jean. For all of his boisterous and cocky nature, he never allowed pride to blind him. 

Unlike Seung-gil.

He scowled, looking at the coffee slowly dripping into the pot. 

For all of his love of all things logical, Seung-gil had too often fallen prey to the stupidity of his own pride. And instead of acting like a sensible adult he had made his life needlessly complicated. Jean had told him he was being silly, when he had voiced that particular line of thought once. He had told him he was setting the bar impossibly high. And maybe he was. But it did not change the fact he had spent four less than stellar years because he had been too proud to come clean. Jean and him could have both avoided many wrong turns, and an incredible amount of drama, if only Seung-gil had been earnest.

But he hadn’t. And all he could do was cry over the spilled milk which had long curdled.

The coffeemaker beeped, startling him out of his thoughts. Seung-gil grabbed the pot, filling a mug, and putting it back for Jean when he got up half an hour later.

He did not normally allow himself to dwell so much on idle thoughts, but today was a special occasion. After all it marked an anniversary no one but Seung-gil observed. 

Maybe he clung too much to numbers, counting the stairs to their apartment, the tiles in the bathroom, and the passage of years. But he could not help it. He needed to remind himself of those events which had moulded him. Lest he made the same mistakes again.

It was the tenth of March, and it had been six years since he had landed in Montreal for the first time. It had been an anti-climatic moment. An airport and a woman waiting for him in the Arrivals area. 

It had been the beginning of the rest of his life.

 

It was snowing outside. Thick flakes of snow fell on the windowsill, bright white sharp in contrast with the greyish twilight of the late afternoon. Seung-gil sighed, closing his notebook. He walked to the window, pressing his palm against the freezing cold glass. 

He loved snow. It would cover everything in a pristine mantle of whiteness, and for a brief while the world would be perfectly still. It was one of the few things he liked about this place. Snow was not such a common occurrence during the winter in Seoul. He had grown up used to mostly dry winters and rainy summers, and the Canadian weather was so strange, it made him miss his home sometimes. 

It was not a choking wistfulness, rather a tug on his sleeve, drawing his attention to the jarring differences and making him remember inconsequential things. The smell of his grandmother’s cooking, or the clipped sentences his mother communicated in. The way Korean had used to roll off his tongue instead of getting stuck between the urge to speak in his native language and the English words his mind supplied after months of living in Canada. 

He had left no friends back in Seoul, and he heard his grandmother once a month. And while his mother made it a point of skyping him every week, at the exactly same time, their conversations were short and perfunctory. So slowly, English had begun to take over his thoughts,

As he watched the snow cover the streets under his dorm, Seung-gil could not stop feeling like his home was slipping away from his grasp. And the knot in his stomach tugged tighter.

He had never been sentimental, but in the coldness of the Canadian early winter he found himself wondering how it could have been if he had not left. If he had looked for a coach and a rink in his own country. It was the kind of flight of imagination Seung-gil allowed himself in the dark hours before he sleep took over his body. And when the morning came with the shrill sound of his alarm, Seung-gil would once again composed. And ready to soldier on.

He exhaled, trying to push the tendrils of wistfulness back from where they had sprung forth. He needed to focus. This was very likely his last season in the Junior division. He would be eighteen in June and while he could delay his Senior debut by one more year, Seung-gil did not find the point of it. He was at the top of his form. He had sustained no serious injury yet, and he was past his growth spurt. He had breezed through the JGP, earning with ease a ticket to the finals. Lingering would not serve anything. It would only turn him complacent. And that way led to certain failure.  

No matter how good his results had been, Seung-gil was aware that he needed to keep working if he wanted to continue his streak of golds. There were strong opponents in the Junior division who could easily outscore him, like Altin and De La Iglesia.  

And then there was Leroy. 

But that was another kettle of fish.

Swallowing, Seung-gil moved away from the window and plopped back on his chair. He had homework to finish, conjugations to study. But above it all he refused to dwell upon his rink-mate. Thinking about the way his eyes shone when he laughed, or how tall he had grown in the past year, towering above Seung-gil in those sparse moments he had completely invaded Seung-gil’s personal space, acting like the overly friendly and mildly irritating puppy he was, served for nothing but to distract him.

And Seung-gil didn’t need distractions.

 

The hotel door clicked silently. The room was flooded in darkness, and Seung-gil could feel the light snores coming from Leroy whom he had been forced to share a hotel room for the JGP final. Seung-gil took off his running shoes and tiptoed towards the bathroom. He had just reached the door when he tripped against something, and he slammed against the door. He winced at the loudness of the sound, praying that JJ did not wake up.

“Seung-gil?” Leroy’s voice was hoarse from sleep, and Seung-gil sighed loudly.

“Sorry.” he muttered, then anticipating the question he added “Been out running”

“In the middle of the night?” JJ asked, bewildered, and far more awake than he had been a moment earlier. 

Suddenly the bedside lamp flickered to life, and Seung-gil was greeted with a rumpled version of Jean-Jacques Leroy that made his breath hitch in his throat. It was a sight he had no doubt his stupid brain was going to torture him with for the foreseeable future. The way his black locks stuck in all directions, and the softness of his sleepy eyes. Sky-blue. And blinking in confusion.

It took a moment for Seung-gil to connect the blooming frown on JJ’s forehead with his sudden silence, and he swallowed, flushing in embarrassment.

“I.. It’s silent. I like it.” he mumbled, more flustered by the minute. Leroy opened his mouth to reply something, but Seung-gil quickly made his way into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and leaning against it, only to slide down to the floor.

Seung-gil disliked cussing on principle, but the current situation he was in, sharing the room with the teen he was crushing on, could only be described with:

He was fucked. 

 

The neon light flickered in the empty locker room. Seung-gil rested his head on the cold tiles, breathing hard. His cheeks were on fire, and his heart was beating a mile a minute. And it was stupid, really.  _ He  _ was stupid, getting all flustered because Leroy had smiled at him, squeezing his shoulder in lieu of a greeting when he passed him by. But even as he berated himself for acting like a schoolgirl, Seung-gil could not stop his heart from thrumming frantically in his ears. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, reminding himself it meant nothing. Leroy was just being friendly. Unlike Seung-gil the Canadian strived to be a social butterfly, trying to be everywhere and know everyone. It didn’t always yield the desired effects, though, but it did not stop the grinning boy from trying. Loud and boisterous, the sixteen year-old was never seen without his patented smile. 

There was no reason to believe Leroy returned his feelings. His incredibly embarrassing feelings which were quite unnecessarily complicating his life. But a small, irrational part of his mind fluttered with hope. There was absolutely nothing to base it on. And yet, JJ had evolved from a dangerous distraction to a permanent fixture in his peripheral vision, lodging himself at the forefront of Seung-gil’s thoughts. 

He blamed it on the JGP final. In the course of a week Seung-gil’s last entrenchment of dignity had been spectacularly blown up. They had shared a hotel room, and somewhere along the way, JJ had decided the two of them were now friends. He had started orbiting around Seung-gil, making it impossible for him to push the insidious thoughts to the back of his mind. 

The nearly constant presence of the loud teen had forced Seung-gil to accept that yes he had a massive crush on his rink-mate, but that no there was absolutely no hope the feeling was mutual. Not that he wanted it to be. He didn’t need  _ romance. _ He was in Canada to skate, and that was it. 

Except his heart was not calming its breakneck pace. And Seung-gil needed to get on the rink and start warming up. He had Nationals to compete in in less than a fortnight and he couldn’t afford wasting time. 

Exhaling loudly, he opened his eyes and strode to the sink. He washed his face with cold water, over and over, until the chill in his cheek drowned the flush he had been sporting. He was a disgrace. To himself, his family, his country. He was supposed to work hard and make everyone proud, not spend precious training time thinking about a  _ boy _ of all things. A boy who was out of his reach. 

There was no practical use in entertaining these stupid thoughts and emotions. Quite the contrary. He was sabotaging himself in the most destructive manner. And that was unforgivable. 

His fingers dug in the sink edge, pressing against the wet ceramic. He needed to get a grip of himself. 

Swallowing hard, Seung-gil lifted his eyes and with a perfunctory look in the mirror to make sure his blush was gone for good, he strode out of the locker room.

Skating was the only thing that mattered

 

A light breeze whispered in the early spring night. Seung-gil pulled his windstopper on, relishing in the warmth that was quickly enveloping his bare arms. He sipped his soda, leaning against a table, observing his rink-mates. One of the pair skaters had her birthday and she had insisted all of the skaters come to her party. JJ had been impossibly annoying until Seung-gil had relented and agreed to come. 

It had not been a terrible experience so far. Most of the skaters knew Seung-gil was not prone to idle chatter, so they had left him alone. Everyone but JJ, but Seung-gil would be lying if he said he minded.

Three months had passed since the JGP final, and yet his feelings seemed to only grow stronger and more demanding. It was annoying to put it mildly, but at least he had learned how to act put together, how to strangle the flush that too often threatened to spill on his cheeks.

Almost like he had been summoned by Seung-gil’s thoughts, JJ looked in his direction, flashing him a grin and walking towards him. There was a lilt in his movements that made Seung-gil frown.

“Are you drinking?” he asked the younger teen with a cocked eyebrow,  but instead of feeling chastised by the tone, JJ’s grin grew wider.

“You want some?” Leroy asked him earnestly, offering his cup to Seung-gil.

“No, thank you.” he replied primly, and JJ must have caught wind of his disapproval now because he was laughing. 

Seung-gil swallowed, feeling his heartbeat grow painfully fast. He loved the sound of it. The way his eyes would twinkle in mirth, and his lips pull in a grin that was impossibly wide. He was quite aware he was staring, but in the faint light of the garden they were in, JJ’s hair glimmered with streaks of yellow and orange. And the blush that was burning in Seung-gil’s cheeks was swallowed by the shadows.

Or so he hoped.

Because when a moment later JJ breathed out the last peal of laughter, he cocked an eyebrow at him. Seung-gil clenched his teeth, trying to set his face into his trademark impassive expression. But JJ was cocking his head. And taking a step forward. 

There was a table behind him, and the younger teen was once again invading his bubble of privacy. He could feel his heart beating to an impossible speed, and his mouth was suddenly dry. But JJ was still moving forward. And Seung-gil could not stop staring at him, like a deer in the headlights.

He leaned forward. And Seung-gil’s heart stopped.

It was a clumsy kiss, all teeth and noses bumping, while elbows got in the way. But Seung-gil had never experienced anything like it. He had never experienced a kiss to begin with, but even in his limited experience he knew this was something else. It was like every nerve ending in his body had converged into that single spot where their lips met. Soft lips, only slightly chapped, and the taste of something sweet on his tongue. His tongue which was moving against his, and it was oblivion, it was everything.

It was gone too soon.

Seung-gil felt his lungs knotted into a slipknot, and it took him a moment to regain control over his body. His eyelids fluttered open, eyes meeting JJ’s lights one for a heartbeat. 

And then JJ was grinning, throwing him a wink before he stepped back.

“This was fun” he told him cheerfully, before he gave him a peck on the lips.

And walked away. 

Seung-gil stared at his retreating form, eyes wide, while his fingers rose to his lips. He was lost, dazed. The pounding of his heart was almost deafening, and he swallowed dryly. JJ had kissed him. He had not imagined it? Right? JJ had kissed him and then he had walked away. 

But why would he kiss him? He didn’t like him, no, Seung-gil was sure of that. So why, why, why? Why would he do something like that?  _ This was fun.  _ Was it?  _ Was it?  _ JJ was standing further down the garden, socialising like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t tilted Seung-gil’s world off its axis only to rip it off and throw it into the unknown.

Something cold descended down his spine, and Seung-gil stilled, clinging to the last strands of control. 

_ This was fun. _ No. 

It had not been  _ fun _ . It had not. Not for Seung-gil. His throat felt tight, too tight for air to pass. It had  _ not  _ been fun. It had been a whole universe more than just  _ fun. _ Feeling the softness of those lips, the taste of his tongue as it darted inside his mouth, it had been everything Seung-gil had been dreaming for the past months. Only more, more. After months of quiet pining, of silent admiration, of memorising every quirk and idiosyncrasy of his rinkmate, of his  _ friend _ , JJ had kissed him. And the bubbling emotion in his chest was chopped to fine pieces. Because it had been fun for him. 

It had been  _ just  _ fun for him.

Seung-gil swallowed hard. He watched JJ chat with someone in the distance, laughing nonchalantly with the other teens. The pressure building in his throat rose, and he only felt an odd prickle in his eyes before stupid, unnecessary tears began to trail down his cheeks. It was dark enough that no one would notice, but even if they did, Seung-gil did not care. He did, but it was dark. It was dark. And he was being swallowed by it. He wanted to leave. He wanted to hide in his dorm, never leaving it until he had to fly back to Seoul in a couple of weeks. He wanted to disappear in the shadows. But his feet were still planted where they had been when JJ had pulled back and winked before leaving him.

Before walking away because it had been fun. It had been fun for him.

Clenching his fists, Seung-gil forced his feet to move. One step, another, a stride, and then he was nearly jogging out of the garden, ignoring the calls. Ignoring what sounded distinctly like JJ’s voice calling him. But he was running now, putting every ounce of strength he had into his feet. More calls of his name, but he was fast, fast, and his stamina had always been his forte. He sprinted as quickly as his legs would carry him, down the street, down down down. Where the house was nowhere in sight, and the streets of Montreal unwound around him, quiet in the early spring night.

He ran until the only thing he could hear was the pounding of his trainers on the tarmac.

 

There were dozens of unanswered calls and even more unread texts on Seung-gil’s phone the next morning. But he ignored them all, sending a text to his coaches to inform them he would be leaving Montreal sooner. Then he switched the phone off, changed the SIM card to the Korean one, and began packing.

He was going home.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record time this chapter was finished in, you must thank [@rainlikestars](https://twitter.com/rainlikestars)' enthusiasm and fangirling!

 

_ “There'll be no rest for the wicked _ _  
_ _ There's no song for the choir” _

_ Lykke Li, No Rest For The Wicked _

 

The smell of freshly brewed coffee awoke Jean. He opened his eyes and yawned, stretching his arms above his head. The apartment was silent, which meant Seung-gil was out with Gyeong. Jean glanced at his phone to check the time, only to fall back on the pillow a moment later. He could spare a couple more minutes. Besides, Seung-gil’s look of irritation when Jean was running late was so precious he made it a point to elicit it as often as he could. Especially since he knew how to switch it into an exasperated smile.

He closed his eyes, grinning sleepily while he basked in the warmth of his bed. He rolled on his side and buried his face in the pillow on his left. It smelled like Seung-gil. Jean breathed in, curling his arms around it. 

He would have preferred having him in bed with him, but he knew how precise he was about his habits, and getting up early was one of them. Not that Jean was used to sleeping in, but he was just more relaxed about things. Seung-gil was sometimes so tense, so wound up in rules and numbers he would forget how to breathe. It was the shortest route to anxiety, Jean would know. So he made sure Seung-gil never got too lost inside his head. Because he could not stand seeing him self-combust. It was the wrongest possible sight. 

And Jean, to his chagrin, had triggered it more than once.

He heaved a heavy sigh. His thoughts were treading dangerously close to that particular part of their past Jean was not fond of revisiting. Mostly because he had acted like an idiot. That was, if he was being generous with himself. When he felt particularly spiteful against himself he called it being a twat.

It was true that hindsight was twenty-twenty, but had Jean been more attuned to his surroundings, and less prone to putting his foot in his mouth, things might have gone very differently. 

Yeah, he had been just sixteen and halfway between tipsy and drunk, but it was no excuse.

Jean groaned into the pillow before he turned on his back and pushed his fists against his eyes. He had been so  _ stupid  _ back then. It was ridiculous. He had been crushing on Seung-gil for months, taking every opportunity to get close to him. He had devised plans upon plans on how to ask him out, where to take him for a first date, a second date, a third one. Jean had spent so much time daydreaming he had fallen on his ass on the ice more than once. 

And then he had gotten inebriated enough to throw it all into the wind and kissed him. It had been a spur of the moment thing, and by the time he had realised what had happened he had backtracked, trying to play it cool while his insides had been screaming in at least two different languages. Jean could still recall with perfect clarity how embarrassed and terrified he had been in that moment. Because Seung-gil had kissed him back, but his eyes were had been so wide and he had looked like he had seen a ghost. So yeah, he had panicked. But he still winced when he remembered those stupid words.  _ This was fun _ . It was no wonder Seung-gil had bolted, practically running out of the country, heartbroken.

God, he had been such an  _ idiot _ .

He suddenly wished Seung-gil was there. Because even if it had been over five years, Jean still felt guilty for how the utterly  _ wrong  _ turn everything had taken after that moment. How much pining, and heartbreak had followed in the wake of that one stupid sentence. 

Jean sighed loudly, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

The click of the front door opening sounded in the silence of their apartment. And Jean’s eyes snapped open. He bolted out of the bed before he even realised what he was doing and strode out of the bedroom. Seung-gil was hanging Gyeong’s leash in the hallway, and he suddenly turned his head.

“Jean?” he inquired, dark eyebrows furrowing in a frown.

But Jean did not respond, throwing his arms around him and holding the shorter man as close as possible. He burrowed his nose in the crook of Seung-gil’s neck, and held tight.

“Jean” Seung-gil tried again, returning the embrace, but worry and confusion heavy in his voice “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing.” he mumbled against the rapidly warming skin of Seung-gil’s neck. 

Then with a sigh he said 

“Been thinking about Junior days.”

He felt Seung-gil stiffen for a moment, before he heaved a breath out, and tightened the embrace.

“Me too.” he told him “Today it’s six years since I first moved to Canada.”

Jean lifted his head to look at his boyfriend.

“I didn’t know that.” he said, feeling a frown form on his forehead, but then his lips curled in a lopsided smile. “Though I’m not surprised you marked the date.” he told him teasingly before he gave him a peck on the lips. Seung-gil’s obsession with numbers was something so endearing, and so unique to him, Jean could not help it  

Seung-gil’s hand rose to the nape of his neck, pulling him back into a proper kiss.

“Don’t get stuck on those thoughts.” Seung-gil told him seriously when their lips parted “The past is in the past.”

“And yet you mark anniversaries.” Jean bit back with an impish grin and a cocked eyebrow which warranted him an unimpressed look from Seung-gil, that soon turned into an exasperated sigh

“Maybe we should both stop thinking about the past.” he conceded, and Jean grinned. 

It was not an easy thing to forget the things that had shaped them, that had led them to this moment, early morning in the hallway, clinging to each other while their dog loudly drank water from her bowl in the kitchen.

But he would try.

 

The hotel door slid closed behind Jean, and he put his mask on before starting to go down the street in a light jog. The morning was covered in a shroud of fog, giving the waking city an illusion of silence. It was quite warm for early February and was glad he had put on lighter clothes. The thudding of his feet on the pavement matched the rhythm of the latest earworm that had him humming since he had woken that morning.

It was a nice piece if he had to be honest. A modern mambo composition that made Jean itch to put his years of ballroom training to good use. There wouldn’t have been anything bad in having it stuck in his head if it hadn’t been for the fact it was the music Seung-gil had skated his short program the day before.

Jean knew it was silly to be stuck on this after three years. He had long moved on from that stupid crush. He was  _ engaged  _ for heaven’s sake, and Isabella was perfect in every aspect. But the clench of disappointment, the bitter sting of rejection, had never dulled. 

Maybe it was because the Korean had been his first proper crush, and his first meaningful kiss, not something done while fooling around. Maybe it was the abrupt way everything had happened. Jean didn’t know. But even after all this time Seung-gil’s presence made something ache in that small part of his heart that was still sixteen and stupidly in love with the beautiful Korean skater his parents were coaching.

He shook his head, trying to stop that train of thought before it derailed. Seung-gil was his competitor, and that was the only thing he was. Jean was in Taipei to win, to bring home another gold, and ready himself to crush Plisetsky at Worlds in April. Jean’s anxiety may had gotten the better of him in Barcelona, but he knew he had the skill to make it. He just had to work hard. 

And not let himself succumb to those ugly dark thoughts that always lingered on the fringes of his consciousness.

Nationals had been a success, like every year, and it had done a lot to appease his worries about the upcoming Four Continents. But he hadn’t been calm until he had managed to place first after the short program the day before. He had been followed closely by Katsuki and Seung-gil, but with a quad Lutz under his belt he knew he could make it to the centre of the podium. Katsuki had the flip, and Seung-gil the loop, but the Lutz carried more points, and besides, Jean had added the quad loop to his program at the GPF. The maths were in his favour.

Nodding to himself, Jean ran on. The streets became busier the farther he got from the hotel, and the fog was growing thinner. He could see the faint outlines of the tall buildings, and the bright headlights of the cars on the tarmac as they passed him by. He kept following the main street, feeling his muscles pleasantly warm with the exertion. 

He had a free day today, but there was training to be had, tomorrow was the free skate after all. He had also promised Izzy to skype her when he found time, provided it wasn’t the middle of the night in Montreal. She had teased him, as always, never letting him live down that time during the Cup of China two seasons ago when he had called her before the short program, completely forgetting it was the middle of the night in Montreal.

Jean chuckled, shaking his head. He had been so nervous back then, almost as badly as in Barcelona, but the whole embarrassment of the phone call had made him forget about his worries. And he had skated flawlessly. 

Like he always did.

He didn’t call himself the King for nothing, after all, Jean thought with a grin as he readied himself for yet another victory.

 

The arena was filled with cheers. There were colourful banners scattered amid the Korean flags which waved above the bleachers, and the announcer’s voice boomed from the loudspeakers. Jean watched from behind the barrier as Seung-gil made it to the centre of the ice. His pale face was arranged in his trademark impassive expression, dark eyes staring into nothing, and lips pressed in a thin line. It was a familiar sight, and Jean felt once again that faint squirming of his stomach which had never left him in the past three years. 

Jean gritted his teeth, forcing himself to ignore it. They competed against each other, and that was all that was. Not because Jean was spiteful. He would have been happy with being Seung-gil’s friend. But that thorn of emotion that had gotten stuck into his ribcage refused to budge. It was difficult enough to stand there and watch him because he had to know what he was competing against. Thankfully Seung-gil had made things easy. In the past years they had barely exchanged more than a few perfunctory words. 

And Jean was glad for it. It was stupid to be stuck on a teenage crush. He had Isabella, and they were going to start a family together. Two children and a dog. Maybe even three, if Izzy was up to it. He knew he was not even twenty years old, and there was so much time to think about those things, but it made him happy to imagine that future. 

He wanted the life his parents had. 

He wanted to be happy.

The music started and Seung-gil began moving, startling Jean out of his thoughts. His eyes followed the lithe Korean as he glided on the ice, featherlight. The notes dripped softly, while Seung-gil skated with technical perfection, never missing a beat, almost as if it were his skates beating on the piano strings. But beyond the way he skated, Jean was enraptured by the simple sight of his body moving. The extension of his arm in a spin. The rotation of his leg as he exited a jump. The illusion of frailty in his lithe form. Seung-gil looked almost like he was made of fine china. And each time he jumped Jean held his breath for a heartbeat, only releasing it when Seung-gil landed it cleanly. 

Seung-gil’s movements across the rink brought the skater closer to the barrier where Jean stood. He could see the light flush on the pale skin, the soft way his black hair whipped in the motion. And then as fast as he had appeared, Seung-gil was gone, moving back towards the centre once again, carrying with him the end of a faint thread which began pulling at Jean’s heartstrings. It was a minute sensation he would have missed, but in the almost trancelike pocket of quiet that surrounded Jean, he knew what it was.  

And did his damnedest to push it away. Because it was an echo of an emotion that had no reason to linger under his breastbone. It had been three years. He was engaged. He loved Isabella. He was going to start a family with her.

He was going to be as happy as his parents.

But when Seung-gil slipped out of a quad and rolled on the ice, Jean’s fingers gripped tight the edge of the barrier and for a moment his heart stood still. Then the Korean rolled back to his feet in time with the music, and Jean let out a breathless sigh. It was a mistake that was going to cost him. 

It made Jean’s odds at winning better. But he didn’t care. Because in that moment Jean was sixteen again, watching Seung-gil skate at the JGP finals, and holding his breath, aware that for all that he wanted to win, he couldn’t stand the thought of Seung-gil  _ not  _ winning. He was sixteen once again and could not tear his eyes away from the Korean skater. 

Except he wasn’t sixteen.

He was nineteen years old, with a lovely fiancée who waited for him in Montreal, and Seung-gil belonged to his teenage daydreams. 

Almost mocking his own convictions, Jean’s eyes did not stray from the older skater. And when the music finished and Seung-gil bowed to the audience, panting, Jean watched the way his black hair clung to his forehead dripping with sweat. His eyes followed him off the ice, until he was so close Jean could see he flush on his face. 

Seung-gil passed him by on the way to the kiss and cry, and ignored him.

The old ache came back with a vengeance. It was hard to ignore when he felt his stomach twist in knots, but Jean tried to swallow it down. Katsuki was next and then it was his turn. He needed to clear his head before he stepped on the ice. He could not flub his entire routine like he had done in Barcelona. 

He just couldn’t.

He did his best, but his heart was still beating fast. And when he tried to think of Izzy, of her steady support, of the countless memories they had made together, and the more that were yet to come, it only tightened the slipknot around his throat. Jean did not register Katsuki’s music start to play, or any of the cheers of the crowd. He was too busy trying to keep his mind from spiralling down the familiar path of self-combustion. His fingers kept digging in the hard surface of the barrier, trying to calm himself down. 

And then Katsuki walked off the ice. 

Jean felt his heart slam against his ribcage.

He was next.

 

The music trickled slowly from the loudspeaker, barely more than a murmur. The clinking of glasses and the chiming of laughter wove together in a dissonance that was growing more and more harmonic with each flute of champagne Jean drank. He twirled a half-empty one between his fingers, watching the bubbles travel toward the surface, only to vanish. The light danced in the pale yellow liquid and the people in front of him became blurred and distorted as he watched them through the glass.

Then he lifted it to his lips and downed it in one go. 

He had crossed the threshold of tipsiness a few glasses back, and while he was more than well aware it was not the best when it came to coping mechanisms, for once Jean did not care. Not a single bit. He had climbed the podium by the skin of his teeth, and the bronze medal around his neck might as well have been a noose. 

For the second time in the span of a single season Jean had fucked up. And it was worse than Barcelona, worse. Isabella had not been there to console him after he glided off the ice in a walk of shame, there had only been his parents, understanding as always, but just not enough. But what made it all worse, way worse, was that the more he thought of Isabella the sicker he felt.

Because he had been forced to acknowledge that the needle thin trail of emotion which kept leading his eyes to Seung-gil, also kept Jean from being able to give her his whole heart. But she deserved it. She was perfect. 

Isabella loved him completely, even at his lowest. She deserved no less.

 

Six flutes of champagne later, Jean felt the world starting to sway, and he wondered if he should call it a night. He was going to have a massive hangover in the morning as it was. And right now he was just that perfect level of buzzed that would make him slide into slumber with ease. With a sigh, he put the empty glass down on the table, and started to walk towards the door. He stumbled a little, but thankfully managed to avoid elbowing anyone or worse. Even with the hazy cloud of alcohol cocooning his mind, he was wary of making a scene. There were sponsors there, after all.

He walked out of the banquet hall, and entered the empty hallway. The maroon carpet on the floor felt soft under his feet, and even as it swam in front of his eyes, Jean managed to follow its straight line. Halfway towards the lobby he saw a figure leaning against the door to one of the conference halls. Blinking to clear his vision, Jean registered a dark suit, equally dark hair, and a familiar scowl. 

Well if it wasn’t just his luck, he thought with a strange bitterness that tasted like bile. Or maybe it was just the aftertaste of all the champagne he had drunk. Jean did not know. And did not care.

Jean strode towards him, feeling the urge to vindicate himself. He knew he might regret his actions in the morning, but right now he did not care. He was angry, at Seung-gil, at himself, at all the things that were not the way they should be. 

“This was all your fault.” he slurred drunkenly, all but shoving his medal at him. 

The Korean looked at him with a cocked eyebrow, swaying on his feet.

“I didn’t make you skate badly.” he replied with cool. Jean wanted to retort something, but he was too fascinated by Seung-gil’s ability to sound so composed whilst drinking champagne directly from a bottle. 

He watched in mild fascination his adam’s apple bob as he gulped down some of the wine, and he suddenly the conversation they had been having seemed of so little importance. 

Seung-gil offered the bottle to him, and Jean felt himself flush when he realised he had been staring. He shook his head.

“I’ve drowned my sorrows more than enough.” he quipped back with a snort.

“Well, I haven’t.” Seung-gil replied, taking another swig. 

“You got silver, hardly worthy the hangover.” Jean commented with a dry chuckle.

“It’s not gold.” he rebutted “And you still haven’t told me how  _ that”  _ he pointed at Jean’s medal “is my fault.” 

“You actually want to know?” Jean scoffed incredulously. The situation was more than surreal. 

“Humor me.” Seung-gil deadpanned.

Jean shook his head, scoffing. It was probably the longest conversation they had had since Junior days.

“You know what? I might just tell you.” he said “You distracted me.”

“Distracted you.” Seung-gil parroted, blinking.

“Yeah. You distracted me.” he told him sharply, feeling something akin to anger pool inside him “You always distract me.” 

“I don’t understand.” Seung-gil’s dark eyebrows were knitted in a tight frown, and he spoke slowly, careful not to slur the syllables “It makes no sense. To me it sounds like you’re trying to blame me for your own shortcomings...”

But Jean’s patience had run so thin it snapped. And he suddenly pulled Seung-gil by the tie, kissing him roughly. 

“You understand now?” he asked, an edge of something unrecognisable in his own voice.

Then he turned away and stomped all the way to the elevators. 

He didn’t know if the Korean had replied something. All he knew was that there was a burning sludge of embarrassment pooling in the pit of his stomach. Angrily he pressed the button to call the elevator, while a maelstrom of conflicting emotions raged inside him, pounding at his skull like the harbingers of a massive hangover. The old feelings, the new ones, and the ones that should have long been eradicated from his heart but refused to budge, they all mixed and clashed, and Jean ran his fingers through his hair.

What had he done? 

Fuck.

What would Izzy think? He was going to have to tell her. She was going to become his wife that summer. He shouldn’t have kissed him. 

Why  _ had _ he kissed him in the first place? 

It was just an old crush, something that refused to budge. He loved Izzy, he was going to marry her and start a family. He was going to be happy.

So why had he kissed Seung-gil?

And why did he regretted walking away?

The elevator dinged like a godsend, and Jean all but leapt in, feeling his head spin, the world sway, and his stomach churn as an edge of panic flickered in the jumble of his thoughts. He pressed the button to his floor, leaning against the wall, and breathing hard. 

Fuck. 

He was too drunk to deal with this. 

The doors started closing, and Jean exhaled loudly, shaking his head once again. He had just blinked his eyes closed for a second when he saw a hand pushing between the doors of the elevator. 

Heart glued to his throat Jean watched them slide open once again. And a very flushed Seung-gil wobbled inside the elevator. The champagne bottle was still in his hand and there waas a deep flush on his usually pale face.

“What are you…” Jean began to ask. 

But before he could end the question, Seung-gil was pushing him against the side of the elevator. 

And kissing him hard. 

The elevator lurched up, but Jean barely noticed it as Seung-gil’s tongue pushed between his lips. A groan pooled somewhere in his throat, and his thoughts were blasted off by the frantic thrum of his own heartbeat and the urge to kiss him back. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t. But his mouth parted nonetheless, and he deepened the kiss, burying his fingers in the Korean’s dark locks. And in spite of his mind screaming murder, clutching at the slipping tendrils of his sense and reminding him he shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, Jean he sneaked an arm around his thin waist and pulled Seung-gil as close as he could.

Their bodies were pressed flush to each other. But it was not enough. It was wrong. And he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t. But he did. Because for all that the world was swaying in the haze of alcohol, the feel of Seung-gil’s body pressed against his, the way his leg pushed between Jean’s legs, was ablaze in clarity, so bright in almost burned. 

Seung-gil’s lips moved away from his mouth, leaving scorch-marks of kisses down the length of his neck, and Jean’s hand moved from his waist, going under the unbuttoned suit and, feeling the edges of the shorter man’s muscles beneath the shirt. He shouldn’t. It was wrong, wrong, wrong.

It wasn’t.

Jean’s hand found its way under the cotton of the shirt, and his fingers grazed a small patch of hot skin, and it felt as right as gliding over the ice in his skates. Seung-gil bit lightly at his neck, and Jean cursed softly, feeling heat pool deep inside him. It blazed through him with each frantic heartbeat, burning all the thoughts, until the cinders severed the last threads of sobriety. 

And Jean let go

The door chimed open, and they stumbled out of the elevator. 

Towards Jean’s room.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To smut or not to smut, that is the question. I've never published any smut, and barely even tried my hand at writing it, plus I'm not sure it would fit the tone of this fic... I need opinions!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating upped because smut. Also the planned number of chapter rose to currently 6, but since I'm not exactly sure, I'd rather leave it blank. Enjoy! ;)

_ “Would you pin me to a wall? _ _   
_ _ Would you beg or would you crawl?” _

_ Halsey, Trouble _

 

The hiss of blades was loud in the empty rink. It echoed off the large windows, where the pale spring sunlight streamed shyly through, falling on the intricate lines Seung-gil had carved on the ice. He briskly moved in rockers, then in counters, warming his body up before he properly started training. 

They had the rink to themselves this morning. Jean’s parents were at Junior Worlds with three of their younger rinkmates, and the other Seniors would filter in soon. Jean and him were the first ones at the rink. It was a common occurrence, in truth. As common as the two of them being the last ones to leave. Dedication to their sport was something Jean and him had always had in common, and the absence of their coaches was no excuse for slacking off.

Drawing a compulsory figure on the ice, Seung-gil threw a glance to the bleachers. Jean was stretching, and Seung-gil indulged in the view for a moment, lazily skating closer. 

He could see the ripple of muscles under the tight shirt as Jean lowered his torso down to his outstretched leg. His boyfriend’s body was a thing of perfection. And for all that Seung-gil had long mapped every inch of him, he could not stop admiring the sharp angle of his shoulders, or the strong sinews of his thighs. The way the light danced in his dark hair, shimmering almost blue. 

The softness of it when he ran his fingers through it. Or when he gripped it hard in the haze of want, when their limbs tangled, and nothing was close enough until they drowned in each other.

He swallowed, feeling a rush of heat on his cheeks. 

But his eyes followed Jean’s sinewy arms as they lifted above his head, pulling the shirt up with them and exposing the tiniest sliver of skin on the small of Jean’s back. Seung-gil could see the lines of ink disappearing under the fabric, and beneath them, his tan skin. He almost itched to take his skates off and run a hand over the warm skin, pulling Jean into a hard kiss.

Seung-gil breathed out, trying to divert that particular train of consciousness. 

There was a time and place for those thoughts. And for the actions that followed them. But it was most definitely  _ not _ at the rink, where their rinkmates could appear any moment. Where he was supposed to  _ train.  _ He shook his head. Just as he was about to force his body into continuing with the warm-ups, Jean turned towards him He looked at Seung-gil and lifted an amused eyebrow, lips pulling into a grin.

“What’s with that blush,  _ chaton _ ?” he asked teasingly, and Seung-gil narrowed his eyes into a glare, trying to hide his embarrassment at being caught staring,  _ ogling _ . Never mind Jean was his boyfriend. Seung-gil had more propriety than that.

“Aw, come on, no need to be embarrassed.” Jean added with a wink “The King is irresistible, or so I have been told.”

“I certainly hope that’s your overly vivid imagination. Because  _ I _ never said that, and no one else has any business saying any of it.” Seung-gil coldly snapped back. 

Jean laughed out loud, jumping down from the bleachers and leaning over the rink barrier to sneak a hand to the back of his head, pulling him closer.

“I love it when you get all jealous.” he whispered into his ear, and Seung-gil swallowed, his eyes closing instinctively at the warmth of his breath on his flushed skin.

His heart was beating a hundred miles an hour.And it was a losing battle against his sense of propriety. 

Seung-gil was about to cave in, when Jean gave him a peck on the cheek. 

And sauntered back to the bleachers with an infuriating wink.

 

A groan escaped Seung-gil’s lips. His fingers tangled in JJ’s hair, pulling him into a bruising kiss. The floor wobbled under his feet, but he held tight to the chiselled body which pressed him against the wall. He could feel every ridge and curve, the heat radiating from JJ. His vision swam, but he knew there were just too many clothes. That he wanted to touch more skin, more JJ.

He fumbled with his fingers, tugging at JJ’s clothes, while the Canadian pulled Seung-gil’s jacket down his arms. It was messy, it was a tangle of clothes, but soon he could feel a sliver of skin on skin, at it was bliss. Seung-gil ran his palm under JJ’s shirt, feeling the scorching heat of his skin. The hard plane of his back, the chiselled muscles, and then the ridge of his spine. Another kiss and then Seung-gil was moving, pushing the taller skater until they were both falling down.

The bed dipped underneath their combined weight, and Seung-gil’s vision swam dangerously for a moment, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered but the panting body underneath him. And the way his pupils swallowed his cornflower irises as want surged through JJ. There was a deep red flush on his cheeks, and Seung-gil thought he had never seen something so beautiful, so utterly enticing. He dipped his head, but instead of kissing him, he trailed his lips down the sinewy length of JJ’s neck.

A hiss escaped his lips, and Seung-gil, smirked, working his way down the column of his throat and towards his collarbone. Without much ado he pushed the shirt open, while JJ’s hands worked Seung-gil’s buttons open. It was so warm, and the salty sheen of sweat made the heat pool deep inside him, fuelling it until it scorched searing hot like a crucible. He could smell alcohol on his own breath, but it hardly mattered.

His lips closed around one nipple. Suddenly a moan made its way past JJ’s lips, and the hands on him grew impatient. He could feel JJ pulling at his clothes until the warm air of the hotel room grazed his flushed skin. A shiver ran through him, part cold, part anticipation.

He could feel JJ’s fingers, edge towards the button of his slacks. And then stop.

Seung-gil lifted his head, looking up. JJ’s parted lips were red, debauched. But there was a shadow of hesitation in his eyes. 

And maybe Seung-gil should have heeded it. There was a voice echoing hollowly somewhere in the back of his mind which protested. But the world was swaying back and forth, and Seung-gil’s hands were touching warm, sweaty skin. There was a sheer need inside him, swallowing him whole. And nothing mattered, no doubt, no lingering scruple. It all vanished in the aftertaste of champagne and JJ’s sweaty skin. 

Seung-gil wanted this man, wanted him whole, writhing underneath him, above him, falling apart, and screaming his name. 

“I want you.” he said harshly, voice only slightly slurring. And he did, he wanted Jean-Jacques Leroy, panting, sweaty, and looking as debauched as he did now. In the haze of Seung-gil’s mind, it was all simple enough. 

JJ’s eyes widened for a moment, and Seung-gil could see his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. And then JJ was flipping them over, dipping down into a kiss that held the unspoken promise of more, more. Their chests were pressed close and it was too much and too little. JJ’s hands were not fast enough, but when Seung-gil tried to unbutton his own slacks, JJ batted his hands away, trailing open mouthed kisses down his chest and all over his stomach, eyes never leaving his. As the wet trail of his tongue reached lower and lower Seung-gil’s hips buckled. 

Reality was growing narrower and narrower, until nothing but the warmth of JJ’s mouth existed. His trousers were being pulled down, along with his boxers. Seung-gil’s mind was shutting off, leaving nothing but his instincts. And the undercurrent of need. 

Then JJ’s lips closed around his length. 

And Seung-gil was lost. Everything became a blur of gasps and moans, of the white searing heat which rose inside him, and yet tethered on the edge, but never quite crossing it. His hands tangled in JJ’s hair, gripping it like a lifeline. He was on the verge, but he couldn’t let go, he didn’t  _ want  _ to let go. Because he wanted more, he wanted this to last forever, he wanted those lips to never leave.

JJ’s hands were tight on his thighs, but one began to move, stroking its way downwards and under, touching him, and pressing lightly against his entrance. Seung-gil could feel his muscles retract on reflex, and yet even as they did he wanted more of that, he wanted to  _ feel _ . He wanted it all.

“ _ Please _ .” he gasped, arching into JJ’s mouth, and yet trying to feel more of those fingers, even as they just teased him. 

And then his mouth was gone, and the cold air of the room wrapped around his length, pulling another gasp from his lips. There was some fumbling, and then JJ was above him, kissing him once again. Seung-gil could taste himself on his lips, and it made him yearn for more,  _ more _ .

He pushed at JJ’s broad shoulders, flipping them over, and groaning when JJ’s fingers grabbed the opportunity and pushed against his entrance with ease now. Seung-gil arched into the slippery touch, closing his eyes as one finger filled him, moving gently, albeit sloppily. Soon, too soon, another finger joined, but the sharp pain was drowned in the haze of Seung-gil’s drunken stupor, and he bit down on the curve of JJ’s neck. A hiss sounded in his ears but it soon turned into a groan, and Seung-gil bit down again, licking and kissing while those fingers went deeper inside him, moving, stretching, and grazing every now and then against a spot that made him shudder as pleasure seared through him scorching hot.

Seung-gil pushed against the fingers, and was rewarded by yet another rush of it. It was good,  _ so _ good. But he needed more,  _ more  _ He needed to feel that hard length which was pushing against his stomach. He needed of feel it.

He sneaked one hand between their bodies, and gripped JJ, tugging with no mercy. 

“Seung-... _ gil _ .” his hips buckled underneath him, while JJ’s fingers grew harder in their motions, bruising. And it was good. So good.

Another tug, sharper this time, flicking his wrist in the movement, somewhat sloppily, but good enough to make JJ moan his name again, and then suddenly pull his fingers out of Seung-gil.

A whine of protest made its way past Seung-gil’s lips, but before he knew it, he was laying on his back, and there was JJ’s hard length pushing against his entrance. And slowly, steadily making its way in. 

It was a lot. Too much. It was perfect. 

As JJ slowly filled him, Seung-gil pulled his head down to him, gripping his hair while he kissed him, moaning into his lips when JJ bottomed out. And then he started moving.

And the world reduced to that one single point of contact. To the overwhelming heat of JJ around him,  _ inside _ him, filling him whole, and driving him rushedly towards the edge of the cliff. His hips followed the fast, jagged movements of JJ’s, and it was everything, it was the nexus of it all, the point of convergence of heat and want, and years, years, years, of resentment and frustrations, and feeling horrible, terrible, rejected. It all pulled together into one single point and it crashed, it burned, it fell apart in thousands of smithereens. Because in that moment Seung-gil was filled with nothing but a want that pulled at the very marrow of his bones.

A need that burned scorchingly hot against his skin, inside his skin, deep within the panting recesses of his body, as the speed increased. Hit by hit, it pooled inside him, higher and faster. He drowned, he gasped for breath.

“JJ.” he moaned, and then another hit, a stronger one. And his body suddenly clenched as everything spilled over.

A moment later JJ’s hips buckled sharply, and a loud gasp escaped his lips.

And then they were spent.

 

Seung-gil woke up with a groan. His eyelids lifted the tiniest bit, but the light filtering through was harsh. And it hurt. His head was pounding viciously. It hammered like the beating of toepicks against the inside of his skull. And there was a disgusting sticky taste in his mouth, that made the rolling of his stomach even worse. Even barely awake as he was, Seung-gil knew he must had definitely drunk  _ too much _ . A spectacularly stupid idea. He groaned into the pillow, trying to stop his stomach from rolling, as the smell of his breath reached his nostrils. There was still an undercurrent of alcohol in it, and just  _ how much  _ had he drunk last night? 

He lay there for what seemed like an eternity, and his body screamed for sleep. But his bladder had different ideas. He sighed, trying to will his eyes to open, while the headache hammered mercilessly beneath his still closed eyelids. Moving his head ever so slightly made the world suddenly tilt, and his head swam for a moment. A faint shred of rationality reminded him that he definitely  _ needed  _ to take care of his bladder. And he should probably drink water while he was at it. 

But as he lifted his eyelids by a sliver, the bright light pierced his pupils harshly once again. And Seung-gil squeezed them shut, resigning himself to blindly crawl out of the bed. Somehow he managed to roll out of it, and grabbing his bedside table to lift himself up, he got into an upright position. His whole body was a knitwork of aches, but his bladder demanded attention. 

Squinting to see where he was going, Seung-gil trudged in the general direction of the en suite. He grabbed the doorknob and nearly fell headfirst into the bathroom as the door swung open. 

When he got out of the bathroom his eyes had gotten somewhat used to the light, but the harsh sunlight streaming in his bedroom made him squint while pain flared in his head. The world swayed, and Seung-gil’s body kept protesting as he moved. It was an unfamiliar set of aches, but Seung-gil was too hungover to care. He needed sleep.

He needed everything to disappear until his head stopped hurting, and his stomach stopped feeling on the verge of throwing up. Above it all Seung-gil wanted to stop feeling the leftover smell of alcohol in his breaths. He had no idea how much he had drunk, but it must had been a  _ lot.  _ The whole banquet was locked in a haze of tiredness which was pulling at the already difficult process of patching his thoughts together, and Seung-gil gave up thinking, let alone remembering. He needed to sleep.  And he needed it now.

His calf hit the edge of the bed, and he all but dropped into it. He sunk the pillow and let his thoughts scatter like droplets of water in the summer glare. 

Slumber was pulling at him fast, relaxing his muscles, and tugging at his consciousness. 

Suddenly Seung-gil felt movement in the bed next to him. 

His eyes flew open. He jumped up into a sitting position, faintly registering the wince of pain before it got lost in the sudden surge of adrenaline. There was a lump of arms and legs tangled in the same sheets he was still lying under. Seung-gil watched in mild horror, while the room swam in front of his eyes. But the pounding of his heart was grounding enough as he tried to make sense of the sight in front of him. Of the fact there was very much naked skin showing from under the covers. And that Seung-gil was not faring any better when it came to clothes, which he  _ should  _ have noticed earlier.

His throat closed as suddenly snippets of memories began flooding back. his stomach lurched in an almost painful contraction, that did nothing good to the nausea that still lingered. But it was quite inconsequential in that moment, because as the haze of stupor lifted inch by inch, Seung-gil could do nothing to stop the growing tide of horror.

An arm moved in slumber, and a barely audible grunt sounded from the pillow next to his. More and more recollections started to flood. And Seung-gil did not need to look at the ink curling over his biceps to know who was lying next to him. 

Fuck

 

It was barely dawn. The mild chill of the early spring air still lingered on Seung-gil’s cheeks as he made his way into the rink. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the empty dome. He set down his bag and pulled his skates out, making a quick work of lacing them. It was not the way he usually did it. Any of it. But there was a restlessness inside him that pushed at the seams of his composure. He needed to let it out. To scream into the void before it swallowed him whole It had been exactly forty-eight hours since Seung-gil had woken up in Leroy’s hotel room, in his  _ bed _ , and he refused to think about it. He  _ refused. _

He jumped to his feet, striding towards the rink entrance, and harshly pulling his guards off. The moment his blades touched the ice, Seung-gil launched himself across it, skating fast, way too fast for his still cool muscles. But he didn’t care. He didn’t want to think. He  _ didn’t _ . It made his stomach roll the same way it had done  _ that  _ morning, but there it was not the aftermath of drinking. No, it was disgust at himself. At how utterly  _ pitiful _ he was. How it was enough for him to get drunk in order to lose his last shred of dignity. And hadn’t it hurt enough three years before? Hadn’t it hurt enough to be kissed by Leroy because it was  _ fun?  _

Disgust rose up his gullet, and Seung-gil launched himself into a jump, because for all that he couldn’t afford an injury this close to Worlds, he was also unable to stand the knowledge that he had all but jumped on the Canadian,  _ offering  _ himself. And it pissed him off, because he had never done so. He had never let anyone get that close to him, to touch him, to see him come undone. 

He skated out of the combination jump, launching himself across the rink, and then lifting up into a triple. Ice shards followed him as he carved all his rage and confusion, all the resentment and irritation at his own stupidity. He veered sharply before he skated into an Axel, and then another, and another. A loop to remind himself it was  _ his  _ quad, he had claimed it first. Then a Lutz, because he had to remind himself that he was a pitiful idiot. 

He may had told himself he had mastered that quad because it was the highest rated one. But there, in the emptiness of the rink, Seung-gil had enough scorn for himself to be able to admit it that he had done because it was  _ his  _ jump.

And more jarring than the fact the he had slept with Leroy was the knowledge that after all these years Seung-gil could still not let go. 

He sped diagonally across the rink and leapt into another Lutz, hitting his toepick with force on the ice as he defied gravity for the briefest time. Then he built speed and entered a spin, closing his eyes as the cold air whipped around him. There was a yell lodged deep in his throat and he wanted to growl it out, to curse, himself, the universe, his own stupidity. But he kept his lips sealed into a scowl as he crouched into a sit spin and let himself be carried by the centripetal force that made him spin faster and faster. Because he may had sunk low, but not  _ this  _ low. No. He would not scream in distress for him. He would not. No matter how much it hurt to keep it all bottled up, to hate himself for being unable to hate the fact that he now knew how dark Leroy’s eyes turned in the throes of want, how flushed his cheeks got, how fucking beautiful he was. And how Seung-gil’s insides twisted every time he thought about that, but it was not disgust, no. It was longing. It was  _ need. _

Because after everything, Seung-gil still wanted him. 

No matter how much he hated it, he could not make himself  _ regret  _ it. And it was downright pathetic.  

The spin slowed done, and he skated out of it. He moved mercilessly, carving the ice with all the emotions he had buried deep under the mantle of logic he prided himself with. Because for all that Seung-gil’s stoicism and matter of factly attitude had brought him farther than he could have imagined, he had ignored the thorn lodged in that hidden corner of his chest, between the heart and breastbone. And it had stung for years, a dull pain that laced everything which reminded him of that spring day in Montreal, and that sloppy kiss. The memories, the emotions he had buried deep deep deep, they had torn him from the inside. And he had been bleeding for years. Silently.

Until he no longer was. Not anymore. No, because he had been ripped apart, and the blood now seeped thick like the ice shards that followed in the wake of his skates. He felt like there was nothing left but the shreds of his dignity.

And he hated himself for it.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

_ “It’s getting late to give you up _ _   
_ _ I took a sip from my devil’s cup” _

_ Yaël Naïm, Toxic _

 

The room was quiet in the darkness. Jean blinked his eyes open, gasping for a breath. He looked at the pale streaks of light painted on the ceiling, trying to shake away the tendrils of the dream which had awoken him. Not a nightmare, but close enough in the way it made chills appear under his skin. The bed was warm around him, but the coldness radiated from deep inside him. Pinpricks that echoed the emptiness which pooled his gut. 

It was slowly worming upwards, and Jean exhaled, snuggling closer to Seung-gil’s sleeping form. He curled around him, throwing an arm across his torso, and hiding his face in Seung-gil’s soft hair. Jean listened to the steady breaths puffing out of his boyfriend’s mouth, and dancing on the bare skin of Jean’s chest. 

This was home. Seung-gil was home. 

He had always been, only it had taken Jean too long to figure it out. So long in fact, he had nearly ended up married to Izzy. The thought elicited a sudden and uncanny churning in his gut. Wasn’t that what he had been dreaming about? 

There were faint impressions lingering on the forefront of his mind, and it felt eerily familiar, like it had been just yesterday and not two years ago. But for all that they felt too close than they should, it was difficult to discern them from the memories that always sprung forth when he thought about her. How at nineteen he had been convinced putting a ring on her finger would have been enough for her to become family, to become home. 

Something clawed inside his chest, and he swallowed hard. 

Marriage, that was what he had been dreaming about. But it hadn’t been Izzy. No it had been Seung-gil. And yet it had been a nightmare. Jean felt a shiver ripple under his skin. It was something he fantasised about, sharing a pair of surnames with Seung-gil, and telling the whole world how much he loved him. So why had it been a nightmare?

He tightened his grip, pulling Seung-gil closer. And breathing in the scent of his skin until the scratching of nails under Jean’s breastbone abated. 

He wanted to marry Seung-gil. He had for a long time now. But like the chill seeping from his dream, there was something stopping him every time he thought to make a move. And there, in the darkness of their bedroom, with Seung-gil’s slumbering form pressed close to his, Jean could admit it to himself that he was terrified. It was a ghost of an old fear that tightened its hold around his windpipe. 

The last time he had proposed to someone he had ended up hurting them more than he could have ever imagined. And while it had led him to lay there, holding onto Seung-gil for dear life, and not regretting anything, Jean could still not shake off the irrational fear that it would all turn to ash, like his relationship with Isabella had. 

Because he had been happy, hadn’t he? He had been certain of it. And maybe he knew now it had been nothing but denial, that night at the Four Continents’ banquet had been proof enough, but what if he was wrong again? What if asking Seung-gil to be his husband ended up driving him away? What if it ruined this? This peace, this overwhelming sense of home.

Jean was not ready to give it up. Never. 

His lungs constricted at the mere thought. Because Jean could not stand the thought of waking up without Seung-gil’s pale skin against his own. Not hearing his voice first thing in the morning. Not being subjected to the thousand and some more habits his boyfriend had. Not being able to kiss him senseless, and undo all of his cool composure, turning it into pleading moans, and flushed cheeks. 

His heart was hammering fast inside his chest, and Jean was faintly aware he was losing his grasp on his thoughts. But no matter how hard he tried he could not stop his mind from spiralling deeper and deeper into the pockets of fear that had never quite disappeared. Not even after all the knots had been unravelled, and Seung-gil had become a permanent fixture in Jean’s life. 

But that was it, wasn’t it? Permanence. 

Because no matter how good and peaceful things were, there was a small part of him waiting for the other shoe to drop. Wondering numbly just how long he was going to keep this. When would Seung-gil realise he missed his home, his life? Would he see it on his own or would Jean behave stupidly again and drive him away? 

He had done it so splendidly in the past, why should the future be any different?

But he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to. He wanted  _ this _ . He had hurt Isabella to have it. He had cheated on her, and admitted it to her, unable to lie even though he maybe should have. Even though it would have hurt her less, and he wouldn’t have had to see the light dim in her blue eyes. But he had done it all, because no matter what he had been telling himself, Seung-gil had never relinquished his hold on Jean’s emotions. 

Jean had never stopped being sixteen years old and stupidly in love with him. 

But the guilt had never truly washed away either. Isabella’s disappointed expression, the hurt in her eyes, was etched deep inside him. It had been two years since he had confronted her, and yet she still plagued his nightmares, silently accusing him. He felt a knot in his throat, and his arms tightened against Seung-gil. 

A part of Jean would never forgive himself for the way things had unfolded back in Taipei. But in spite of the nearly overwhelming guilt he sometimes felt, given the chance to go back to that night in Taipei Jean knew he would have done everything exactly like he had the first time around. Because in the end Jean knew he had been too stubborn, too deeply in denial. And nothing shy of sleeping with Seung-gil could have made him realise his feelings. 

He was a horrible selfish person. 

And Seung-gil would eventually see it. He would eventually be hurt, wouldn’t he? 

But Jean didn’t want that. He didn’t want that. 

His thoughts reeled, tethering on the brink. And then falling down down, dragging the darkness of the room, the warmth of their bed, his body, everything into the abyss. His heart hammered but Jean could do nothing but cling to Seung-gil, as his breaths grew shorter with each exhale. It was fear in its most undiluted form. And it coursed through him, tightly woven within old scars and memories that still haunted him. It was the same dark tide which had made him self-combust at the GPF in Barcelona. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will it away, trying to regain his foothold on reality, but it slipped, as his mind ran faster and faster. He felt his lungs closing up, and breaths come in gasps, as adrenaline shot through him. Something moved, but Jean held tightly, feeling his muscles lock. It was too much. All of it. He wanted it to stop. But it was like wading through quicksand, and the more he tried the deeper he sunk.  

Jean was faintly aware he was shaking, but he could not stop it. 

More movement, and then his arm was being forcefully moved, and Jean’s eyes shot open. Seung-gil was leaning above him, a deep frown above his sleepy eyes.

“Jean?” he asked, voice hoarse from sleep, but thick with worry. 

And in the maelstrom pushing at the insides of his skull a new streak of guilt swirled. Because he had woken him up. Seung-gil had been so tired from training, and now he had woken him up. He had woken him up.

“Jean, what’s wrong?” he demanded, but he could only shake his head

“Nothing...” he managed to croak with a shake of his head “Go...go back to sleep,  _ chaton. _ ”

“It’s not nothing.” Seung-gil but back with a hint of annoyance that masked worry “You’re shaking.”

He pulled Jean’s head on his chest, and began running his fingers through his hair. His motions were gentle, soothing. An anchor in the waves that crashed inside him. A kiss was being pressed atop of his head, but Jean barely felt it. 

“Breathe with me” Seung-gil’s voice whispered softly in his ear, and he tried to follow it, focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

And slowly letting the rest of his thoughts wash away in the current.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale. 

Fingers kept carding through his hair, caressing his forehead, trailing digits on his cheek. He focused on breathing and on Seung-gil who steadily breathed underneath him.

Who was home.

 

 

The air conditioning whirred softly. It pushed a stream of cool air in the stuffy heat of Jean’s bedroom, trailing wisps of chill on his exposed skin. The thick curtains in his bedroom were drawn, and there was barely enough light to see what he was doing. But Jean didn’t really care. Sitting cross-legged on the carpet he slowly packed his luggage, for once entirely indifferent if the T-shirts he had fetched from his drawer matched with the trousers and everything. 

He smoothed down the fabric of one, before adding a small pile of clothes above it. 

There was a heaviness in his shoulders that he couldn’t seem to get rid of. He didn’t even really try. It was late May, and Jean was not making preparations for his wedding. He was packing his suitcase to fly to Japan for an ice show.  

And that was enough to seep away whatever energy he had been left with after all that had happened since the Four Continents. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn’t want to think about it. Not again. But even as he tried to shake himself off that particular train of thought, his stomach constricted, much like it had been doing for the past months. And Jean found himself thinking about Isabella once again.

He swallowed down the lump which was forming in his throat. They were supposed to get married at the end of June, ending their honeymoon with Jean’s birthday mid July. They were supposed to start a family, two children and a dog. 

Jean was supposed to be happy, waking up every morning to the sight of his beautiful wife.

But he had fucked up. 

Isabella had not broken up with him, but the hurt and disappointment in her eyes spoke volumes. She had postponed their wedding, telling Jean they needed time,  _ she  _ needed time. To come to terms with Jean’s actions, to decide if she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, Jean didn’t know, but he knew what her silences had meant. He knew she was giving him the chance to make a choice. 

And this time, to stick to it.

It should have made him glad that Isabella was willing to eventually forgive him. 

But for that to happen Jean would have to regret his actions. And he found he couldn’t. In a way it was the worst part of it all. That he couldn’t find it within himself to regret it. That if he closed his eyes he could still picture Seung-gil’s flushed face, his red parted lips, and the way he had arched against him as he had come undone. And it made his blood pump faster through his veins, feeding a sparkle of want that had no reason to exist.

Maybe Izzy had not found it within her heart to reject him, even though he had cheated on her. But Jean could not look at himself in the mirror. Isabella deserved more than that. And Jean was surer by the day he was not able to give it to her. His head dropped, and he squeezed his eyes shut, pushing his knuckles against them. 

Jean didn’t know what to do. 

Except packing. 

He was leaving for Japan that evening. He had to finish packing. 

Reluctantly he opened his eyes and set to finish putting his clothes in the luggage. Then he would take a cab to the airport. His parents could have given him a ride, it wouldn’t be the first time. But Jean couldn’t stand another silent drive, car filled with the almost tangible mixture of curiosity and worry emanating from his parents. He had told them Izzy and him were taking a break, but he had not had to courage to face them and tell them the reason why. Jean was too ashamed to admit to his parents he had cheated on Izzy.

Or that he still kept dreaming about it. 

That he kept waking up in the middle of the night, sweaty and hard. That it took him little to bring himself over the edge. And it was always to a memory of that night in Taipei. How could he look at his mother in the eye and tell her he couldn’t stop thinking of it. Of the taste of Seung-gil’s sweaty skin, of the tight warmth of him around his length, of the secret wish they had gone the other way round. Of how in the dark and shameful moments of the night it was enough to imagine how it could have been to have Seung-gil inside him to get close to the edge.

Nothing could compare to that night after the banquet. 

And that made his guilt all the worse.

 

The air was heavy and damp. It clung to Jean’s clothes, turning his skin sticky with sweat and dampness. The downpour that had accompanied Jean’s train ride from Fukoka to Hasetsu had stopped, but the multitude of puddles left in its wake were starting to dry in the warm air. He was tired and thirsty, and ended up downing a whole bottle of water as he made his way towards the Yu-topia Katsuki Inn. Chris, who had contacted him on Victor’s behalf, had offered to pick him up at the train station, but Jean had declined, punching the address in his phone, and following instructions.

It had come as a surprise, being invited to perform in Victor’s ice show, considering the older skater had never deigned him a glance. But it was better than moping at home, and it was a chance to skate without his parents’ heavy glances on him. Jean doubted any one of his fellow competitors cared enough to ask him why Izzy was conspicuously absent from Jean’s instagram photos. Not that he had posted much in the past months anyway. 

It felt somehow pointless. Fake. 

Smiling and grinning when all he wanted to do was curl in a corner and disappear. 

His thoughts were taking a dark turn, but Jean did nothing to stop them. He couldn’t make himself care. 

Thankfully,  the large ornamental gates of the inn appeared in the distance, wrenching his thoughts back to the present. He rolled his luggage down the path to the main building. The faint sound of familiar voices carried through the damp air. It was a mix of laughter, heavily accented English, and angry snarls that could only be Yuri Plisetsky.

Jean’s mouth curled in a wry smile. Which grew slightly more cheerful when Chulanont suddenly walked out of the front door, and beamed as he saw him.

“JJ! You’re here!” he exclaimed, ushering him in “Almost everyone’s arrived. We’re only waiting for Emil, but he’s coming tomorrow morning. Leo and Guang-hong are sightseeing now that the rain’s stopped…” Phichit kept chatting amiably as Jean took his shoes off, and trailed his luggage into inn. 

Only to have it suddenly taken away by a Japanese woman with a purple headband.

“Oh, that’s Mari, Yuuri’s sister.” Phichit said with another bright grin “But come on, this way!”

Jean just nodded, dazed by the sheer energy of the Thai skater. They were barely acquaintances, but Chulanont was a social butterfly much like Jean was. Normally at least. Because he had barely uttered a word since they entered Yu-topia Katsuki. 

They entered a large room with low tables and cushions on the floor and several greetings were thrown his way. Jean made sure the smile stayed on his lips as he greeted his fellow competitors back. He may feel like shit, but that was not JJ Style, was it? He saw Chris threw a wink his way, and his eyebrows rose when the Living Legend himself deigned him a distracted nod from where he was lazily sprawled in Katsuki’s lap. 

But he didn’t have much time to ponder that, because Victor’s brown poodle trotted happily to Jean and licked his hand. 

“Well, hello there!” he cooed, kneeling down to pet it, smiling a more genuine smile “And what’s your name, gorgeous?”

“It’s Makkachin.” Yuuri replied, smiling fondly at the dog who had rolled on his back in the meanwhile, so Jean could scratch his belly.

“Makkachin. Now that’s a great name for a handsome fluff ball like you, isn’t it?” he said, and got a lick on his fingers in reply. He chuckled, scratching the curly fur a bit more, before focusing his attention back to his fellow skaters.

Otabek and Plisetsky were sitting in a far corner, the former nodding and the latter scowling at Jean. And he couldn’t resist the urge to throw a teasing wink in the Russian Fairy’s direction. The younger skater’s face predictably turned a shade of furious red, and Jean found himself chuckling. Getting up to his feet he walked to where Chris and Chulanont were sitting and joined them. 

The Thai had unsurprisingly his phone out, and immediately insisted on taking selfies of the three of them

“-to keep the fans updated.” he said, extending his selfie stick and striking a pose. Jean complied, his body adjusting to his best angle on reflex. And several selfies later Jean was starting to relax in the easy atmosphere. 

Between Makkachin who had decided Jean was his new friend and had permanently planted his furry self next to him, and the harmless flirting Phichit and Chris kept throwing at each other, barely stifling the urge to laugh at times, Jean was having a good time. 

He was getting more and more convinced coming to Japan had been a good idea. In the past three months he had almost forgotten how it felt to be lighthearted. To simply have fun, and be silly. He smiled, ruffling the curly fur of his new four legged friend, and getting another lick on his hand. He chortled, shaking his head at Makkachin’s antics. 

With the corner of the eye he saw another skater enter the room, and he turned his head to greet them.

Only to feel his heart suddenly stop, and blood drain from his face. 

It was Seung-gil. 

He didn’t know was here too. No one had mentioned it. 

Jean’s heart which had restarted, was pumping now at a breakneck speed. He had not seen Seung-gil since Worlds, and even there he had done his utmost to avoid the Korean. Because he didn’t want to face him. He really didn’t. But even if Jean wanted nothing but to hide, he kept staring at the Korean like a deer caught in headlights. 

And inevitably Seung-gil’s eyes found him. 

Jean saw them widen, while his already pale face blanched further. And a heartbeat later he was turning on his heels and striding out of the room, to the bemused calls of the ever-sociable Phichit.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked, amusement and confusion battling on his face, and Jean did his best to shrug naturally, shaking his head before he buried it in Makkachin’s fur. 

If his hands were shaking and his heart kept beating too fast, only the poodle noticed.

 

The night air filtered through the windows, slightly cooler now, and Jean breathed in, nodding at something Katsuki’s friend said. The owner of the ice rink was the only person other than him still passably sober, and Jean had found himself engrossed in a discussion about the right age to start skating. As he had gotten to understand, Yuuko had three daughters who were hardcore figure skating fans and she was wondering if it was too early to find them a proper coach.

Jean had found her to be pleasant company, after the initial fangirling had abated. Not that he minded his fans. Jean had always enjoyed their attention, and their dedication had often been the thing which would spurn him to push forward. 

He sipped his soda while he gazed every now and then at his fellow skaters’ rowdy antics. To say the evening had gotten out of control, would have been an understatement. In hindsight Jean had no idea how it had happened, one minute they were eating dinner like a civilised bunch of people, and the next one Nikiforov was drunkenly getting rid of his clothes, while his equally inebriated fiancé did nothing to stop him. 

Jean had been the only one to outright refuse to drink. After Taipei he could not stomach the idea of getting drunk.

On reflex his eyes sought Seung-gil, and he let Yuuko’s voice fade to white noise. The Korean  was as drunk as he had been on that banquet, and his normally cool composure had been abandoned for a more laid back one. It would have been amusing if the circumstances had been different. But with the way Jean’s lungs clenched whenever he gazed at him, he found mirth disappear too quickly.

He turned his attention back to the Japanese woman, but just as he opened his mouth to speak he saw her eyes widen, and she suddenly squealed in Japanese. A second later her phone was in her hand, and Jean followed her gaze, which led him back to where he had been looking at a moment earlier. But where before Seung-gil had been gesticulating and laughing with abandon at something Yuuko’s husband had said, now he was clinging to the petrified man. And all but shoving his tongue down his throat.

Something burned in his chest and the sound of Yuuko’s camera barely registered as he strode across the room, quickly peeling a protesting Seung-gil from Yuuko’s husband.

“Time to go to sleep.” he declared with an unexpected vein of irritation in his voice. “Come on Seung-gil.”

The Korean mumbled something in protest, but Jean had already grabbed his waist, angrily striding out of the banquet room, and into the hallway. He had no idea why he was reacting like that, Seung-gil was free to kiss whomever he pleased. It wasn’t like Jean cared. He may be unable to stop thinking about Taipei, but he didn’t care who Seung-gil snogged. 

And yet the thought of him kissing Nishigori…Jean clenched his teeth, dragging Seung-gil along, with little help from the drunken Korean who was now clinging to him, pale fingers tangled in the fabric of Jean’s shirt. 

They had gotten halfway into the corridor when Jean realised he had no idea which room the Korean was staying in. 

“Seung-gil?” he tried to catch his attention, and his head bobbed up, drunk gaze meeting his. There was something enticing in those dark eyes, in the way he was being looked at, but Jean swallowed it down “Which… um, which room is yours?” he asked, and the Korean frowned, blinking twice, before he shook his head.

“No idea.” he slurred, before a flicker of something passed in his eyes and he curled an arm around Jean’s neck, purring “We can use yours.”

Jean’s heartbeat must had broken the mach barrier by now, but he didn’t dare move a muscle. Because he could feel want start to pool inside him, and his blood rush south at the sight of Seung-gil’s lips parted invitingly, while the Korean moved closer and closer, until he was flush against him.

He felt his muscles tremble, but he squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard. Seung-gil was drunk, and he had no idea what he was doing. He was drunk, Jean was not going take advantage of him. 

Never mind he should be reacting so hard to him.

He suddenly felt a hand pulling the hem of his shirt up,. And Jean’s fingers snapped, curling around Seung-gil’s wrist before he could touch him. 

“No. You’re drunk.” he said, prying Seung-gil away from him, and holding him at an arm’s length “Let’s get you to bed”

Seung-gil protested at the rejection, but he followed Jean, tripping on his feet as he led him towards Jean’s room. The sheets were fresh so it didn’t matter really which bed he slept in. Jean would eventually figure out which room was Seung-gil’s and sleep there. 

It was no big deal. 

Jean slid the door open and helped Seung-gil lay down on the bed. He groaned as his head hit the pillow, but his eyes started closing almost immediately. Jean tucked him under the covers, Seung-gil sleepily curling underneath them. And Jean felt his stomach flutter at the sight, the burning wire of want simmering down to something tender. A lock of hair had fallen over Seung-gil’s forehead, and Jean brushed it off before he even registered the action. 

He was about to straighten up from his crouch and leave, when Seung-gil’s fingers suddenly closed around his wrist, and he murmured something in Korean.

“I don’t understand you.” he softly told the drunken man. He couldn’t help his lungs from constricting, and his heart to stutter as he stood so close to him. Even drunk as he was Seung-gil was beautiful.

He murmured some more in Korean, but switched to English on the tail of it

“Stay.” he slurred, eyes focusing on him with some trouble, and mouth moving softly “Please.”

And Jean suddenly felt so tired of fighting against himself, of running away from Seung-gil only to find him there, beautiful and almost frail in the pale moonlight that filtered through the window. Seung-gil’s fingers were warm on his skin, and he felt them ghost up his wrist, sending jolts of electricity through Jean’s body.

He closed his eyes for a moment, sighing loudly. So what if he slept there? Did it matter? Did any of it matter? His shoulders sagged and he opened his eyes. 

Jean sat down on the bed and let Seung-gil’s hand lead him down on the mattress. An arm curled around his chest, and it left a trail of sparks in its wake. He felt Seung-gil press close to him in the narrow bed, head leaning in the crook of Jean’s neck, and hair tickling lightly.

Slowly Jean exhaled the breath he had been holding, and let his cheek lean against Seung-gil hair.

He had no idea what he was doing. 

But it felt better than anything ever.

 

Jean woke up to the sounds of commotion filtering through the open window. He lazily lifted his lids, trying to adjust his eyes to the bright sunlight, only to snap them shut once again. A yawn tore from his lips. He basked in the warmth of the bed, listening to the shouts coming from the garden. A small part of him was curious to see what all the commotion was about, but he couldn’t recall the last time he had slept so well, and he was wont to leave the comfort of the bed. 

Reluctantly, he tried to open his eyes once again. And when he did, the previous evening came back to him in the form of a very deeply slumbering Seung-gil. And Jean’s heart did a backflip. Seung-gil’s soft black hair was tousled, and his lips were parted, breathing softly. Dark eyelashes splayed over his pale skin, and Jean’s chest constricted as he struggled against the urge to caress his cheek. To run his fingers through the mussed hair. 

He kept staring at him, stripped from all of his defences and soft in slumber. And he found that he couldn’t look away. 

That he didn’t want to look away.

And even as he realised this, another truth pushed its way to the forefront of his mind. It was the same one that had made him kiss Seung-gil at the banquet in Taipei, and made him lose control and sleep with him, drunk but not regretful. The one that had made him pine for the Korean skater for long months back in Juniors, until he had stupidly blown his chance because he had been an idiot.

And for all that guilt was a squeezing noose around his throat, and the hurt in Isabella’s eyes dug deep into his chest, leaving scratches that would never heal, for all the self-hatred and regrets, Jean could not lie to himself. Not now, early morning in Hasetsu, with Seung-gil sleeping peacefully next to him. 

He wished he could. 

But it would not stop him from being in love with Seung-gil. From having been in love all along..

Jean swallowed, feeling a maelstrom inside his ribcage and at the same time a strange sense of calm. 

He didn’t know how long he lingered in this limbo, but a louder shout that sounded distinctly like Nikiforov made his eyes snap to the window. And Seung-gil stirred. He watched him with bated breath as he slowly lifted his lids, only to groan and push his face deeper in the pillow. 

And Jean couldn’t help it, he chuckled.

Seung-gil’s head snapped up immediately, and the Korean looked at him with wide eyes.

“Jea… um Leroy?” he mumbled, growing paler by the minute as he registered the fact that they were both in the same bed. His head shook, and he saw his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed “Did… did we…” he started and Jean suddenly realised what direction had Seung-gil’s thoughts led him to.

“No, no!” he exclaimed, shaking his head and lifting his hands to appease him “You were drunk as hell and I carried you to bed.” then his voice getting smaller “But you insisted I stayed…”

The Korean groaned again, dropping his head in his palms and muttering something.

“Come again?” Jean asked, and Seung-gil lifted his head, looking at him with a pained expression.

“Did I… did I do anything  _ embarrassing _ ?” he asked, biting out the last word.

“Well, you kissed Yuuko’s husband…” Jean said wryly, the irritation he had felt the night before taking its proper name. Because it had been nothing more than plain old jealousy, but now with the morning sunlight dancing in Seung-gil hair, Jean saw the humour in it Yuuko had.

Seung-gil looked at him with a hint of desperation in his eyes, and Jean gave him a grin.

“I think Yuuko took pictures. She found it quite funny.” he told him lightly, then he added “I dragged you away before you could molest him further.”

Seung-gil muttered something in Korean that Jean was sure had to be a curse. Then he looked at Jean, and mumbled a clipped.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” Jean told him, feeling his lips curl into a soft smile, then grinning he asked “How’s your hangover?”

Seung-gil’s glare was answer enough, and he chuckled, climbing out of the bed and walking to his luggage. After a bit of rummaging he fished out the bottle of painkillers and tossed it on the bed.

“These should help.” he told him with a wink “I’ll fetch you a bottle of water.”

The Korean looked at him with a puzzled frown, but Jean paid it no mind, looking through his backpack for a bottle of water.

It was almost surreal, all of it. And maybe it was all going to come crashing down, making him regret it. But in that small pocket of eternity he felt so light he didn’t care.

All he wanted was to cherish the spark of happiness that pulsed inside his chest. 

For as long as it lasted.

 


	5. Chapter 5

_ “Dangling feet from window frame _ _   
_ _ Will I ever ever reach the floor?” _

_ Fever Ray, If I Had A Heart _

 

Morning pushed its light through the window frame, making Seung-gil squint his eyes. He yawned wearily, feeling the lack of sleep coil deep inside his limbs. There was the faintest throb of a headache ghosting under his temples. The greyish light of dawn which was steadily filling their bedroom made it grow sharper. He knew he should sleep. They had training in a few hours, and he was going to be useless on the ice. But for all that he wished nothing but to be able to drown in slumber, there was a restless energy coursing through him. 

In the pale light of dawn he could allow himself to feel it for the intricate weave of emotions it was. He did not have to pretend he was not being slowly torn between worry, helplessness, and the visceral need to protect, to shield Jean from whatever it was which had him curled around his chest like that, forehead pulled into a frown and clutching the sheet between his fingers in a white-knuckled grip. 

Jean’s face was made for grins, for mirth dancing in his blue blue eyes. He was made for puppy excitement, for being loud and flashy. There was nothing more wrong than the sight of sheer fear in his eyes, and the feeling of his heartbeat pounding fast but in terror while he clutched at Seung-gil for dear life. Just thinking about it made his own chest constrict painfully, and Seung-gil exhaled. His hand rose to Jean’s messy mop of hair, and he ran his fingers through it. 

He wished he knew where this crack spidered from. What was it that troubled Jean so? He had been acting oddly ever since that morning when he had held him in the hallway like they hadn’t been sleeping next to each other only hours prior. Was it the past? 

Seung-gil tightened his hold on Jean, squaring his jaw. He knew Jean had suffered as much as he had, and that he would never rid himself of the guilt of having hurt Isabella. And Seung-gil wished he could feel it too. He wished he could share in Jean’s regrets on that night in Taipei which had shaped their relationship. But for all that he had hated himself in the weeks which had followed it, Seung-gil could not regret it. How could he when it had led it him Jean in the end? When it had brought him something, the first thing after ice skating Seung-gil wanted to hold on. 

He loved him in the most stupid, and selfless way. So much he wished he take whatever it was that hurt him out of Jean’s chest and bury it deep within his own. He was ready to rip his aches away from him. Make them his own. Seung-gil was ready to do  _ anything _ , as long as Jean kept smiling, grinning, laughing, and acting like the overgrown child he sometimes was. The insufferably amazing man who made his heart feel like it was about to burst through his breastbone.

His eyes opened and he looked at the messy mop dark hair which fell on Jean’s forehead, almost reaching his eyes. There was a hitch in his breaths as he looked at the soft way his dark eyelashes rested lightly above his tan skin. 

He loved him so much.

Too much. 

Seung-gil lifted his head from the pillow, and leaned over Jean, feeling an edge of desperation in this strange mixture of emotions. He kissed his hair, and his lips lingered there, while the quietest of tremblings shook under his own skin. His heart was swelling, and a lump was forming in his throat. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, maybe it was the way Jean had looked at him with panic in his eyes, maybe it was the liminal space of their bedroom at the crack of dawn, Seung-gil didn’t know. The only thing he did know was that  _ this _ was the most precious thing he had ever had. That no matter how much pain and misunderstandings, how many  _ years _ they had stupidly wasted, no matter the collateral damage, it had all been worth it. 

Something wet dripped onto Jean’s hair, and Seung-gil realised he was crying. And his shoulders shook with a dry chuckle. He loved him so much, it was ridiculous. And it should have scared him, irritated him that one person should have so much power over him. That one person alone was the nexus of everything, the beginning and the end of his happiness. That one person was worth everything. Because there was nothing Seung-gil would not be willing to sacrifice for Jean.

For his happiness. For his smiles. For the feeling of his skin pressed flush against his. For the twinkle in his pellucid eyes when he gazed at Seung-gil. He wanted to wake up next to Jean for the rest of his life. He wanted his ridiculously blue eyes to be the first thing he saw in the morning and the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep. He wanted him by his side, for the rest of his life.

There was nothing in the world worthier than this. Worthier than Jean.

He loved him so much, and he didn’t care if it was too much. He didn’t care if it was irrational, if it left him feeling like this, because for all the aching, he was happy.

Achingly happy.

 

Cold air was streaming through the air conditioning. Seung-gil’s damp skin shivered and he pulled his bathrobe tight around his body. He dropped down onto the bed, damp locks plastering on the covers, and dripping down his forehead. He was too tired to care. It had felt blissful to finally rid himself of the grime and sweat of the trip, but the much needed shower he had taken, had sapped the last remnants of his strength. 

It had only been three days since he had left for Hasetsu, but it might as well have been a lifetime. The appearance of JJ, who had been an unexpected addition to the ice show, had been the start of it. Just seeing him there had been too much. It had been like at Worlds, and ten times worse. Having to be around JJ, and feeling his stomach churn painfully because he couldn’t help  _ thinking  _ about that night. He couldn’t. Months had passed in between, but shame had curled so snugly around Seung-gil’s lungs, squeezing them until the only breaths he could make were shallow and fast, that the passage of time seemed inconsequential. But unlike at Worlds, Seung-gil had not been able to avoid him in the small confines of the onsen. The paper walls had done nothing to contain his loud voice, his cheerful laughter. 

And Seung-gil’s mind had not been able to focus on anything else. Because it was burned inside his mind, the sound of JJ moaning Seung-gil’s name. And he hadn’t been able to help thinking about it. Even now he felt the shameful lick of a flush rising up his cheeks at the mere thought. He squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing. 

He was a disgrace. 

That one man could leave him so unmoored, feeling like a kite being thrown around by the most unpredictable winds. The aftershocks of the sudden lurch of panic he had felt on that first morning in Hasetsu when Seung-gil had realised he had awoken next to  _ him  _ once again, still rippled under his skin, like snakes curling around his bones. But amid the poison and disgust he felt for himself, for being such a pathetic excuse for a man, there was something else. Something that made his already scathing judgement of himself grow even harsher. 

Because he knew what it was. He could not misjudge the sharp way his heart hammered when he remembered the way JJ had looked bathed in the morning light. And it resembled too much the way he had felt when he had been a seventeen year old idiot in love. The way he had felt in that small fraction of a second between their first kiss and JJ’s dismissive words. 

Seung-gil knew what it was and he hated himself for it, for being so irrational, so stupid. Because if  _ sleeping  _ with him had been a shameful mistake his dignity could not forgive him, it was still better than this. Better than  _ hoping. _

But that second day in Hasetsu had been so strange, so reminiscent of the way they had acted around each other in Juniors. A strange ease had filled their interactions, and Seung-gil had felt dazed by it, almost forgetting for a moment that he was no longer seventeen and stupidly,  _ irrationally _ in love with him. 

Even as he thought it, Seung-gil felt the irritating flutter of his heart in his chest. It was foolish to think anything was different from the way it had been when he had left Seoul. JJ was still JJ, engaged and painfully beautiful with those impossibly blue eyes. And Seung-gil wanted them to look at him and never blink. He wanted those eyes on him, only him. He wanted them darkening in want, he wanted them rolling as pleasure coursed through JJ’s body. He wanted JJ, and the worst part was that he  _ knew _ how it felt to kiss him. To have him inside him, groaning in pleasure. To wake next to him. And for all that he was making a picture with fragments, he couldn’t stop wanting it. Because if waking up in Taipei had been a shock, waking up in Hasetsu had been a dream.

And it robbed Seung-gil of whatever little faculty of rational thought he possessed. It was stupid, incredibly so, and it was going to hurt once reality kicked him hard on his stomach and sent him flying through the air, but his stomach curled pleasantly, and hope fluttered inside his ribcage like a moth in a lamp.

He was pathetic.

He was in love.

 

The morning light was pale, barely a tinge of grey in the early hour. Seung-gil leaned against the counter, waiting for the coffee machine to be done. Tiredness was thick inside him, filling his limbs with lead. He had woken on a slightly damp bedcover, still wearing his bathrobe, and no more rested than he had been when he had collapsed atop his bed. His mind felt empty, a wasteland of withered thoughts he knew would sooner or later spring back to life. But he was too sleepy, too carved out and hollow to be able to feel anything but a visceral yearning for a cup of coffee.

He watched it drip slowly into the pot. Just as the coffee machine beeped to signal it was done, Seung-gil heard a faint chime in his pocket. Groggily he reached inside, fishing his phone out. It was an instagram notification. Apparently Phichit had tagged him in some photos. 

Setting the phone on the counter he poured himself a generous cup of coffee and took a sip. The bitter warmth of it, was enough to jolt him into a sharper state of wakefulness. Then he took the phone and opened the app. He was mildly surprised the Thai had not posted the photos on the very day of their ice show, waiting instead for nearly forty-eight hours to do so. Yawning, he started to scroll through the photos. There were a lot of good pictures, five of which were of himself, caught mid-spin, hydroblading, and three which captured him in the middle of a jump. He didn’t care much about public image, much to Min-so’s chagrin, but he had to admit it was pleasing to see photos that did his skating honour. He noticed there were dozens of comments on it, but he gave them only a perfunctory glance, ignoring the useless amount of emoticons and capital letters people tended to use. 

Scrolling further he looked at the rest of the pictures of the ice show. Various skaters captured in their performance, a few selfies featuring them all, then more of his fellow competitors. Inevitably he eventually spotted a familiar dark undercut coupled with a smug expression. His heart did a backflip inside his chest. Seung-gil scowled at his own reaction, tempted to lock the screen, and go on with his morning routine. But instead he found himself looking through the photos of JJ skating in his dark shirt. There was a photo of him exiting a Lutz, face serious in concentration, and hair flying about his forehead. 

Seung-gil swallowed, looking at the arms crossed in front of his chest, the fabric of his shirt pulled by the centripetal force. His heart was beating a fast staccato, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. JJ was beautiful, but JJ skating was something else. It was like all the facets of his personality converged into synchronicity, moving his body, and carving the ice in the image of himself. The arrogance and persistence, the cheerful aura that often crossed into obnoxiousness, the cockiness, but also the softness of his eyes in the pale morning light. The way he fell apart, the inflection of his voice when he came undone, the beauty of his body, the taut light of his sinews, the boyish grins, the incredible weaving of contradictions. All of it, caught in a jump, in a landing, in a moment that tugged at everything Seung-gil refused to let himself feel.

But it was too late, wasn’t it? He was in too deep. He had been for  _ years _ , and it was foolish foolish foolish, but denying himself had not made it go away. 

Shutting his eyes he tried to swallow down the frustration, the  _ ache  _ that flared from that hidden corner of his chest, twisting his lungs and making breaths struggle to go through his windpipe. 

The sudden chime of his phone made him snap his eyes open. He looked at the screen with a frown. 

And stopped.

Flashing across it  was a direct message notification from instagram. Seung-gil stared at it until the screen grew black. He unlocked the screen again, heart pounding even harder in spite of the bemusement. He half expected it to have been a trick of his mind, but it was still there. Tiny black letters against a stripe of white, and a small icon that he would have recognised even if the name had not been telling enough.

-jjleroy!15-   
_ Hi! _

 

The evening air was surprisingly balmy. Gyeong trotted happily by Seung-gil’s side, sniffing the pavement with interest. It was a slower pace than the usual brisk walks they had, but Seung-gil felt every single muscle inside his body flare like burning rods. It was nothing new. Ever since he had returned from Japan the days had dragged together in a tight bundle of skating, refining the choreographies, cross-training to make sure he was in ideal shape, and ballroom classes to improve his step sequences. Seung-gil was doing his utmost to fill his days to the brim, so when he collapsed in his bed at night there was no room to think about clear blue eyes and blinding grins. 

He was so exhausted, even Gyeong was becoming too much of a task to care for.

Switching the leash to his other hand, he rolled his shoulder to try and ease some of the tension. Tonight, like nearly every evening of the past weeks, his muscles ached so much it had taken most of his willpower to force himself to give her the lengthy walks she loved. Seung-gil knew he was pushing himself too hard. He had months before the Grand Prix began, but he couldn’t let himself dwell on his feelings, on the sharp tug inside his chest whenever he thought about the first competition he was going to have in the upcoming season. How JJ would compete in the Rostelecom Cup too. It was almost like a mockery of the past season. Except this time they were going to compete against Victor Nikiforov himself rather than his student. 

But above it, all he couldn’t help thinking about that message he had gotten. About that innocent  _ Hi!  _ JJ had sent him on his instagram. It had been weeks, but Seung-gil could not stop dwelling on it. Why had JJ written to him? What did he want? He wanted to reply, he wanted to. But every time he looked at it he somehow managed to restrain himself. What would it accomplish? Would it make it any easier? Or would it just exacerbate the constant state of unrest he had been in ever since the Four Continents? 

He hated himself for being so pathetic. Feelings were a burden he did not need. A heavy, and aching weight on his lungs that shortened his breaths and swallowed him whole when he allowed himself to feel. 

The worst part was the sheer curiosity. It was wanting to know  _ why  _ JJ had written to him? Was it a natural progression of the odd odd way they had acted around each other after they had woken next to each other in Hasetsu? And if it was, did Seung-gil want that?

He exhaled, looking at the tips of his trainers as he made his slow way down the pavement. It was pointless to think about it, any of it. If nothing because Seung-gil knew full well what he wanted. But  _ that _ was the one thing he could not have. JJ was engaged, and that was it. Taipei had been an aberration, a drunken mistake.

It had been  _ everything _ but Seung-gil could not accept that, he could not.

Gyeong must have sensed something was off because she suddenly stopped her sniffing, turning to him and pawing at his knee. He was in the middle of the street. People passed them by, cars drove down the tarmac. He was in the middle of the street, and he should not be feeling this sharp sharp tug inside his chest, he should not be yearning to embrace Gyeong and bury his head inside her fur. He should not.

But he did. And it took all of his willpower to force his feet to move, and to swallow down the lump that pushed and pushed at the inside of his breastbone.

He was a fool. A pathetic fool. 

 

An hour later he returned home, and against his better judgement he opened his direct messages on instagram. And typed.

-seung-gillee-   
_ Hi. _

 

The summer heat was diffusing into the light chill of early autumn. The leaves of the  trees in the park were slowly withering, shrinking in shades of orange and brown, and threatening to fall. Seung-gil’s evening walks were slowly growing back into the pleasant habit they had used to be. Gyeong trotted happily by his side, while he periodically checked his phone, waiting for JJ’s reply.

It was strange to think two months ago he had been reluctant to reply, when they now spent better part of their days chatting. September was ending and it had been a long time since that evening when he had sent him his own tentative  _ Hi _ , but Seung-gil still found it surreal. Like this was something they did, like it was something they had always done. And it was disconcerting how much he’d come to cling to those absurd conversations they had. How his heart skipped a beat whenever he heard the notification chime.

And it didn’t matter if they were discussing the most inconsequential things, because Seung-gil’s breath still hitched in his throat whenever JJ replied. It was stupid, and delusional, and he was fully aware it was going to hurt more. Because there was a flicker of hope that thrummed stronger and stronger with each passing day. 

 

A chilly wind whipped through the large street. Seung-gil pulled his jacket tighter around himself, burying his nose in his scarf. Moscow was not his favourite place. It was too cold for mid October. Maybe it was not  _ bitter _ cold, like it had been the year before, but it still seeped through his winter clothes, wrapping around his muscles and joints. He rubbed his hands together before trailing his luggage towards the hotel entrance. His coach was a couple of feet ahead, already making her way to the reception. 

He unwrapped his scarf, letting the brief chill melt away from his skin. It would take a couple of minutes for his coach to take care of the check in, and then he would finally be able to go to his room. There was a restlessness inside him, which made him itch to move, to do something. Anything as long as it distracted him from his thoughts. From the nerves that tightened their grip on his body the longer he stood there in the middle of the lobby.

There was apprehension pooling in his stomach, but it had nothing to do with the competition which would start in two days. It had nothing to do with the prospect of facing Nikiforov on the ice, or struggling to secure his place in the Grand Prix Final. And it had  _ everything  _ to do with JJ, with competing against him, with seeing him. With  _ talking  _ to him for the first time since that surreal day in Japan.

Seung-gil could feel his heartbeat in his ears, fast as it was, and he looked at the people milling through the lobby, at the same time hoping and dreading to see that telltale dark undercut. But there were just reporters, and a group of pair skaters he vaguely recognised. Min-so strode in his direction a moment later, silently urging him to move towards the elevators. 

A silent ride later, Seung-gil was entering his hotel room, and setting his luggage down. His whole body was thrumming in apprehension, and he could feel his palms damp with sweat. It was stupid. It was pointless. Seeing JJ was not going to take away the ache which had lodged itself permanently under his sternum. If anything it was going to make it worse. Because there was this irrational surge of hope that somehow kept growing with every message they exchanged. 

Shaking his head, Seung-gil opened his luggage and started setting everything in order. He had to hang his costumes, put his passport in the safe, set his toiletries in the en suite. And then he needed to take a shower, and rid himself of all the grime of travelling. 

It did not stop his mind from wandering.

Half an hour later he was toweling his hair, trying  _ not  _ to feel the telltale tingle of anticipation at the thought of the official practice they would have tomorrow. He had just dropped the towel on the bed when he heard a knock on his door. 

Frowning, he  walked to the door and opened it. 

Standing on the corridor, with his hands tucked in his pockets was none other than JJ. And Seung-gil’s heart skipped a beat. He watched JJ open his mouth to speak, only to close it a moment later. There was a violent blush on his tan cheeks, and it belatedly occurred to Seung-gil he was only wearing a towel wrapped around his hips.  

Fighting, and failing against his own blush he managed a nearly stuttered

“JJ.”

“Um, Seung-gil, hi!” he replied, seemingly gathering his bearings, but there was a nearly palpable nervousness behind JJ’s laid back veneer  “I messaged you but I guess you didn’t see it...” 

“I was taking a shower.” Seung-gil told him, stating the obvious, but not really trusting himself, his voice anything. 

Not when JJ’s lips were curling in a wry grin. 

“I can see that.” he told him with a wink, but the rosiness of his cheeks swallowed the dryness of the remark “I..Well, I was wondering, are you busy?”

Seung-gil shook his head minutely in confusion.

“Busy?”

“Yeah, I kinda… well I was wondering…” he trailed, running a decidedly nervous hand across the back of his undercut “I wanted to ask you out.”

“You wanted to ask me out?” he parroted, feeling stupid as he did it but his mind was having trouble to compute the information.

“Yeah, as a date?” JJ somehow made the statement sound like a question.

“A date?” he deadpanned, staring at him as a cold trail of understanding shivered down his spine. 

Seung-gil’s shoulders squared as he inhaled, and he clenched his teeth, eyeing him hard. And pushing down down down all the pain at his words, all the disgust, all the bile that was rising up his gullet. Because he may be desperate, he may be pathetic, but there was a limit to it. And he was  _ not  _ going to do this. 

“I’m sure your  _ fiancé  _ will be willing enough.” he told him coldly, wanting to say more, to slash with his words, but he didn’t trust his voice, not when he felt reduced to a cheap fuck. To a pastime. 

His chest constricted painfully, but there was anger flaring in his breaths, and he clung desperately to it, as he spat the chilliest

“Good night.” and made to close the door, but JJ’s hand shot forward, pressing against the wood.

“Wait! What..” he stammered, shaking his head, only to suddenly stop, eyes widening in understanding “Oh, you think…No!”

He took a step closer, lifting a hand towards him, but Seung-gil flinched back. There was a flash of hurt in those blue eyes, and he had no right. No right. Seung-gil was the one tethering on the edge of pathetically showing just how  _ much  _ it ached.

And he should shut the door to his face. But then JJ said

“Izzy and I broke up months ago.” and Seung-gil blinked. What? Then JJ’s lips quirked in a hesitant lopsided smile “I thought you knew.” 

He was sure his heartbeats echoed in the empty corridor, pounding like shockwaves in the plaster. His eyes stared unblinkingly at JJ, trying to process it all, but failing, failing. Because where hope had twinkled now it burst it bright flames which licked the inside of his ribcage, setting his lungs on fire. 

“So, are you…  are you gonna go out with me?” JJ asked him, shuffling his feet while his pale eyes locked on his.

Seung-gil opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He did not know what to say,  _ how  _ to say it. It was too much, the way his heart threatened to burst through, the way his vision grew blurry. Because he had spent the past eight months trying to forget, trying to weed those emotions out, because it had been delusional to hope, stupid and pathetic. Because JJ was going to get married to Isabella, and Seung-gil would only be a drunken mistake. 

But he wasn’t, he wasn’t. Because JJ was there, looking at him with wide eyes, with hope, with emotions which twirled in the pale blue and mirrored his own. Because he wanted to go out with him. 

Seung-gil did not know what to say, how to speak of all which swelled inside him. So he let his instincts take over and stepped forward and pressed his lips against JJ’s. 

He kissed him, gripping his shoulder for dear life. And a heartbeat JJ’s hand sneaked around his waist, kissing him back with no restraint. 

He pulled him flush against him, tangling his fingers in Seung-gil’s wet hair, holding him like he feared he was going to disappear. Like he didn’t want this moment to ever end. He kissed him hard, and Seung-gil tilted his head to deepen the kiss, letting his body speak for him. Letting himself go to the tide of emotions which brimmed inside him. Because there were no words, no gestures to express it all.

There was just the taste of JJ’s lips, and the warmth of his body wrapped close to him.

Holding onto him.

And not letting go.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more to go!


	6. Chapter 6

_ “All that time, wasted _ _   
_ _ I wish I was a little more delicate” _

_ Sarah Jaffe, Clementine _

 

Spring was in full bloom. The warm sunlight filtered through the canopy, turning it a vibrant green. Gyeong was trotting happily on the gravel path by their side, the leash hanging limply from Seung-gil’s hand. His other hand was lightly twined with Jean’s as they strolled through the park, enjoying the morning. They had returned from the World Championship less than a week before, with a pair of medals to add to their collection. Jean had scored bronze, Seung-gil beating him by a decimal difference. And the small satisfied smile which had bloomed on his boyfriend’s lips had been worthier than any medal, even the gold Plisetsky had gotten. 

Jean smiled, tracing the outline of Seung-gil’s knuckles with his finger, and getting an inquiring look from his boyfriend. He shook his head lightly, strolling down the park. It was a perfect morning, quiet and easy. And Jean was happy with the outcome of Worlds. The Russian may had been impossible to beat, but Seung-gil and him were edging closer to the blond. It was only a matter of time. They had been both steadily breaking their personal bests through the season, after all. The season which was finally done for them. There were ice shows to get ready for, but there was no trace of the stress of the competing season. There was only a Thursday morning, early April, with the sun shining and them finding a moment to just breathe. 

And Jean needed it desperately.

Worlds might have distracted him from his thoughts, but the fears and doubts he had been feeling more and more often had never disappeared. Each day he felt like was balancing on the thinnest of ropes, waiting for the inevitable gust of wind to throw him off it and into the abyss. He felt his grip on Seung-gil’s hand grow tighter, and he threw a glance at his boyfriend. 

He was calmly staring ahead, and Jean bit the inside of his mouth. Seung-gil had not asked him about that night when he had awoken clutching him in panic, nor had they discussed any of it, but Jean knew none of his quirks could have escaped Seung-gil’s observant mind. And while part of him was glad he did not have to explain his fears to a man who would think them irrational and unfounded, there was a small part of him that wondered pettily if Seung-gil even cared.

Jean knew it was just his fear speaking, twisting the perception of reality. But how could he be sure? Hadn’t everything been too complicated with them from the very first day? Were they just forcing something that had never supposed to happen? Romantic as the notion was, star-crossed lovers were not the way things happened in real life. People met, got together, got married. Simple as that. There were not years of pining, of mistakes, of doing everything upside down. Of being unable to do one single thing the way it was supposed to be done. And while Jean would not have traded a single moment spent with Seung-gil he could not help wondering if he was just deluding himself. If their relationship was an aberration. 

If it was going to inevitably end.

But he didn’t want that. He’d sooner give his skating up than lose Seung-gil, and skating was his life. But Seung-gil was more, more. He was the pale winter sunlight that broke through the clouds and glittered on the snow. The summer thunderstorm that appeared out of nowhere, drenching him to the bone, while he laughed under the rain. He was the warmth inside his bed, the beautiful body he wrapped himself around, the mouth which yielded under his, the softness of hair under his fingers. He was the hand he gripped like a lifeline while he tried not to lose himself to fear in the middle of the park on an April morning.

He was a pair of feet stopping in their motion, and a hand lifting to Jean’s cheek, turning his head so he was gazing into worried dark eyes. Jean swallowed, feeling his heart pound painfully fast, and his breaths struggling to come out. Seung-gil’s hand released his own, and Jean almost gasped at the loss of contact, but a second later he was being enveloped in a sudden and tight embrace.

“Speak to me.” Seung-gil whispered in the crook of his neck, while his strong sinewy arms crushed him against his chest “Jean, speak to me.”

“I..” he tried, but his voice cracked in the middle, shattering into a sob, and then there were tears falling down his cheek. He buried his face in Seung-gil’s hair, and just shook.

It was morning, early April, the sun shining from beyond the canopy of young leaves. And Jean was crying, crying, crying. Because he had bottled all this up for far too long, because with each passing day Seung-gil became more and more important, and his fear grew along with it. Until it was unbearable. Until he could no longer hold it trapped in the confines of his ribcage.

_ “Je t’aime.”  _ Jean murmured into his hair. I love you.  _ “Je t’aime trop... trop.”  _ I love you too much. Too much. 

Seung-gil’s arms squeezed him tighter, and then he lifted his head, looking at him.

“I love you. And I…” his voice faltered for a moment before he squared his jaw and told him seriously. “I want you by my side. Forever.” 

“I want you too.” Jean said wetly, feeling more tears slide down his cheeks “I’ve been so stupid, so…” he shook his head but Seung-gil was having none of it, because there was a hand cupping his chin while he levelled Jean with a piercing look 

“Let’s get married.”  he deadpanned. 

Jean felt his eyes widen.

“What…” he stuttered, looking at his boyfriend in bemusement. Did he just...

“I..” he began, clearing his throat, and then with the same earnest determination “Do you want to marry me?” he asked. 

But for all the bravado, Jean saw a faint insecurity in the flicker of his dark eyes. And more than the words, than the abrupt  _ proposal, _ it made his heart thrum fast, much too fast. 

He saw Seung-gil open his mouth to say more, but he interrupted him with a half choked

“Yes!” 

Jean felt laughter bubble in his chest, but what came out of his throat sounded more like a sob. Seung-gil’s hand gingerly rose to his cheek, but before he could wipe away the wet trail of tears from his cheeks Jean turned his head, kissing his palm. 

“Yes” he breathed “Yes, yes, yes”

And then he was embracing him, lifting him up, crushing Seung-gil’s lithe body between his arms. He captured his lips and kissed him with all he had, with all the emotions he had bottled up inside himself, all the doubt, all the worry, all the fears, but more more more, all the love, all the awe, all the desire to never ever stop looking at Seung-gil.

To have him there for the rest of his life.

 

 

They were kissing. Jean had come to Seung-gil’s room, with a flicker of hope in his heartbeats, praying the Korean would not turn him down. But instead of talking, of trying to find a clear path out of the brambles they had gathered over the years, they were kissing. 

It was not innocent, or chaste. It was Seung-gil, holding onto Jean with strong fingers, digging into the flesh of his shoulder, and being close, close, close. Jean's hand was on his back, touching warm naked skin, and feeling the ridge of Seung-gil's spine under his fingers. It stirred something inside him. But there was no room for thought because Seung-gil was deepening the kiss, and Jean forgot what he was doing here in the first place. Forgot any questions, apologies or excuses he had gathered behind his teeth because his mouth was open and he was kissing Seung-gil, deeply, barely holding back a groan. 

He could feel want pooling deep inside him, and he almost drew back, one last vestige of self control still reining him. He struggled against the need which was growing with each slide of Seung-gil’s tongue against his own, but suddenly he felt a telltale hardness pushing against his thigh. And his self control all but combusted, the flicker of doubt asking him if it was a good idea, only to be choked by the sound Seung-gil made in his throat when Jean pushed closer, and his thigh brushed against him harder. 

In a sudden movement Seung-gil pulled back from the kiss, grabbed the front of Jean's shirt and all but yanked him into his room. He shut the door with his foot before pushing Jean against it.

"Seung..." he began, the last shred of rationality screaming that this was not what he had in mind, that this was all upside down. But Seung-gil kissed him hard, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.

"Are you... are you sure?" Jean managed, panting against Seung-gil and needing more contact, more skin. More.

Seung-gil looked at him, eyes impossibly dark, fingers clutching the hem of his shirt in a white knuckled grip, and chest heaving.

"Did you mean it?" the Korean asked him instead "You want to go out with me?"

"Yes." Jean answered, the haze of want not clouding that one certainty. He wanted Seung-gil, but not just this, not just the sight of his beautiful body coming undone, not just the heat of his skin against his own. He wanted the whole of him. He wanted him by his side, inside his arms, inside his body. He wanted everything. He wanted him

Seung-gil must have heard it all in that one syllable, because next thing he knew the Korean was taking his hand and walking backwards towards the bed. Where there had been urgency all but a moment before now there is a sudden calm intensity. It vibrated out of Seung-gil's eyes. And Jean followed him, unable to do anything else. He watched the way the light glimmered on his pale skin. But even as he tried to take in the breathless sight, his eyes kept going back to Seung-gil's, to the look he had in them. 

He couldn't look away. 

He couldn't do anything but follow him as he knelt on the bed, pulling him along. He lingered there, almost breathlessly, for a moment. And Jean swallowed, feeling his heart hammer in his chest. Then Seung-gil's hands were unbuttoning the shirt, and pushing it off his shoulders. Jean inhaled sharply as Seung-gil’s fingers brushed against his skin. It was as good as he remembered, and yet better better. Because this was something else entirely. This moment, this building tension, wire growing tauter and tauter. This was something else. 

Because this was not wrong, this was not a mistake. This was the rightest thing.

Seung-gil was taking his time, but Jean felt like his chest would collapse if he didn't touch him, if he didn't kiss him, pulling him flush against him. The moment the shirt fell down his wrist, pooling on the floor, Jean sneaked an arm around Seung-gil's waist and pulled him towards him, capturing his lips in a searing kiss.

He pushed him down on the mattress, hovering above him for a moment, before his legs found their way between Seung-gil's thighs. And Jean could not stop the groan which rose in his throat when he felt Seung-gil's length push against his own, nothing but a few layers of fabric between them. He felt him arch him back, pushing against Jean. And it was a breathless second before he was plunging down on his mouth. And kissing him with all the want which was coursing through him, moving down down down, and becoming too much. The need to feel him, to touch him, to be touched was becoming stronger with each thrust, with each frustratingly delicious moment of friction.

Jean sneaked his hand down Seung-gil's chest, grazing over his nipple, and eliciting a groan and a shudder. But he kept moving, reaching the towel which barely covered Seung-gil, and sneaking his fingers down his thigh and under. Under, until his palm was wrapped around Seung-gil and he jerked his hips. 

“JJ…” he breathed, and then try to set the pace but Jean was having none of it. His hand moved slowly, deliberately, watching Seung-gil’s lips part, and body arch.

Then he kissed him, deeply, with Seung-gil’s fingers digging into his back while he chased Jean’s hand with his hips. His own hardness pushed against the tightness of his jeans, but watching Seung-gil slowly unravel as he pumped his hand up and down his length was a sight he could not stop looking at. He grazed his fingers against of Seung-gil’s nipples, and the reaction was so sudden, it too him by surprise. Seung-gil’s hips buckled and then he was spilling over his stomach, and on Jean’s hand, his lips moaning

“Jean…” and it was all he could do not to come undone there and then, untouched and still in his jeans.

Seung-gil’s eyes looked softer in the afterglow, and there was a bonelessness to him that made him look almost delicate. His heart hitched in his chest as he watched the Korean man laying there, flushed, debauched and indescribably beautiful. Jean leaned down to kiss him, but it was gentler, barely more than a peck on those flushed lips. But the moment his lips touched Seung-gil’s, Jean felt them press back, a hand sneaking to the nape of his neck while he was kissed languorously, but with an underlying heat which soon reminded him of how hard he still was. 

A hand trailed down Jean’s front, travelling towards the zipper of his jeans, and hovering there, barely touching. He lifted his head, looking at Seung-gil and saw a look in his eyes that made him want to get rid of the fucking garment and pin the Korean to the bed. But Seung-gil must have had something else in mind, because he slowly lifted himself to his elbows and flipped their position.

There was an intensity in his dark eyes that made Jean’s breathing grow laboured in anticipation. But Seung-gil took his time. With slow and deliberate motions he unbuttoned his jeans, pulled down the zipper and proceeded to pull down his jeans and boxers. Jean watched him discard them on the floor, and lick his flushed lips, staring back at him.

He kept Jean pinned with his gaze even as he lowered above him, and licked a wet trail up his length. Jean’s breath hitched, and he struggled not to buckle his hips, as Seung-gil teased him, licking and pecking. And eyes never leaving him. They were dark dark dark, and he could see his want mirrored in them. A shudder ran through his body, and he felt Seung-gil’s palms gripping his hips.

Then his mouth closed around him.

Jean had to squeeze his eyes shut, gripping the bed covers not to come undone at the warmth and heath which engulfed him. A few shuddering breaths passed, but Seung-gil was not moving. And Jean opened his eyes, looking at him. Only when their eyes met did he start moving, and oh it was divine. Feeling him there, wrapped over his length and bobbing his head, eyes never leaving his, not for a single moment. It was the hottest thing Jean had ever seen. 

His hands kept firm on his hips, keeping him pinned on the mattress, while he moved, up and down, at a deliberate pace that was unbearable. He wanted to meet him thrust to thrust, he wanted more, faster, harder. But Seung-gil kept his pace, eyes daring him. 

“Please...” he breathed, unclenching his palms from the bed covers and gripping Seung-gil’s hands which steadied his hips “Please, I…”

And then he felt one of the hands release his hips, taking hold of his wrist and directing his hand to Seung-gil’s hair. The other hand slipped down his hip, and suddenly he was free to move, setting the pace, and gripping tight onto Seung-gil’s hair. His world narrowed to the heat of Seung-gil’s mouth, to the way he swallowed him whole, eyes piercing him even as Jean’s fingers pulled his hair less gently than Jean would have liked.

But it was hard to control himself when he felt on the brink of self-combustion, when there was so much heat, and skin, and one of Seung-gil’s hands was teasing its way between his thighs. It barely touched his entrance, but the thought alone was enough to push Jean over the edge, and then he was falling, falling, falling, and it was a delicious abandon. 

Seung-gil’s mouth parted from him slowly, Jean’s hand slipping from his hair, and falling limply on his lap. He saw Seung-gil’s adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, and then he was moving, sliding up towards him. Jean’s arms moved sluggishly, but still found their way around his waist, pulling him down on the mattress, half atop Jean. 

They were sweaty and sticky, but the feeling of Seung-gil’s skin flush to his own, the pounding of his heart against Jean’s chest made something soft unfurl inside him. His head leaned down in the crook of Jean’s neck, and he turned his own head, kissing Seung-gil’s hair.

He couldn’t quite believe he was here now, lying naked and spent on the top of Seung-gil’s bed, with the latter sprawled atop him, and lightly moving his fingers up and down his chest. 

“We keep on doing things upside down.” he murmured against Seung-gil’s hair, and he felt him stiffen ever so slightly. He saw his head lift and his dark eyes locking onto his.

“Do you regret it?” Seung-gil asked, his voice even, but Jean could see his expression shutting. His head shook before he could even reply.

“Of course I don’t.” he said, lifting himself up to an elbow, and cupping Seung-gil’s chin “But you gotta admit in all of this we haven’t even gone to a single date yet.” he flashed him a playful grin and felt Seung-gil relax.

“We’ll do it tomorrow then.” he declared, then a second later he added “After practice.”

And Jean found himself chuckling and nodding along.

“After practice” he confirmed, pulling Seung-gil into a kiss which lingered languid. When they broke apart Jean asked “So, do I get a walk of shame or I can spend the night?” smirking.

“Only if you take a shower.” was Seung-gil’s dry reply, but the small curving of his lips betrayed him.

“Want to join me?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow as he disentangled from their embrace and started getting up from the bed. Seung-gil did not reply, but merely rose from the bed, and deliciously naked as he was, walked to the door of the en suite.

A small part of him could not believe he was truly there, bantering with Seung-gil, teasing each other, admiring the sinews on his thighs, and the curve of his ass. Touching that skin when he stepped closer, and having those dark eyes look at him with want but also more, so much more. Looking at him with an echo of the emotions which squeezed his lungs and made his heart leap in his throat.

He couldn’t believe it, and yet here he was, pressing close to Seung-gil, and tilting his head until they were kissing again, with Jean pressing him against the doorframe, and taking his time in touching, kissing him down the column of his neck and hearing his breath hitch. 

 

The room was gloomy when Jean woke up. The grey Russian sky peeking between the curtains and barely letting any light in. The flutter of Seung-gil’s breaths against his skin was nothing short of perfection, and Jean found himself grinning, even as he closed his eyes. His heart was thrumming a merry tune inside his chest, and the tangle of doubts, fears and guilt which had followed him since the ice show in Japan, since the Four Continents if he had to be completely honest with himself, abated, fading into nothing but a pinprick he could ignore with ease.

He could have ignored the end of the world, lying there with Seung-gil’s legs tangled with his own, and his arm tightly wrapped across Jean’s chest. He opened his eyes and looked at him, taking into the curves and angles of his body, peaceful in slumber. But able to make Jean lose his mind with barely any effort. He gazed at Seung-gil and saw him for the miracle he was, sinews and pale skin, dark eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, concealing a dark dark eyes that spoke so eloquently in Seung-gil’s silences. He saw the determination, the beauty, the dedication, the perfect imperfection of him, and his heart only beat faster.

It was incredible, it was beyond the wildest fantasies Jean could have imagined. It was perfect.

Because lying there in the gloom of the Russian morning, Jean could do nothing but smile at the sight of Seung-gil lying in his arms. Smile and wait for him to wake up.

 

That afternoon they met in the lobby of the hotel. After a lazy morning and a gruelling practice they had agreed to meet for their date. Their first date. Jean could not contain his excitement. Because for all that he had woken up next to Seung-gil thrice already he wanted to spoil him, he wanted to walk around Moscow holding hands, he wanted to take selfies, and sappy pictures of each other, he wanted them to argue on who was going to pay for dinner, he wanted it all. He wanted Seung-gil in all his facets. 

Seung-gil arrived exactly on time, and stood next to him, for an awkward second, before something flickered in his eyes and he tentatively took his hand. Jean’s heart nearly leapt in his throat, and his fingers threaded through Seung-gil’s, gripping  tightly. A small smile blossomed on Seung-gil’s lips, and Jean could not resist. He leaned forward and gave him a peck.

“Ready for our first date?” he asked, cheekily, adding a wink for good measure.

“It was about time, I think.” was the reply he got, and grinning like an idiot he pulled Seung-gil out of the hotel and into the chill of the Russian autumn.

Maybe they had done everything upside down, maybe they could have done this years ago, they could have had this moment, this utterly unique beginning, and maybe it would have been different. But even if Jean didn’t know if he was ever going to forgive himself for hurting Izzy, it had brought him there, in spite of all odds. It brought him to Seung-gil. And the past was gone, with all their deeds, with all their mistakes, with all the things Jean still did not understand. With the heartbreak, and the solitude. With the yearning which had never quite ceased. He could not change it, no matter how much he wished. 

The only thing he could do was summon that small smile on Seung-gil’s lips. 

And never let him go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this fic is finished at last. It has been quite a ride! A heartfelt thank you to all of you who left kudos, comments, and screamed over twitter about this fic and all things JJSeung! <333
> 
> This was my first foray into this ship, but it definitely won't be the last, so stay tuned!


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